The Glory in Death
by Jimbop
Summary: Castor is a normal man living a normal life in the middle ages. When he is given the opportunity to become the ultimate careear soldier. Follow his path through history, keeping an eye out for some familiar characters along the way. Bit of a grey area here but I don't own the universe here, Steph Myers does. She also owns the rules and some cameo people.
1. Chapter 1

**Anyone who read my first effort, Forks Electrical Contractors, will find this story to be a bit different. And by a bit different I mean a lot different. That one was written for my wife, this I chose to write for myself. The chapters are much shorter for the most part, but there are a lot of them. That should make sense as we move along, but the hope is for something easy to read that moves along quickly. I'm going to try to stick to the weekly releases, and I'm way ahead of myself so it shouldn't dry up anytime soon. Anyway, lets begin...**

Part 1 - Origin 1227-1245

Most life stories these days seem to follow the trend of beginning at the end, working backwards or jumping straight into the middle just to confuse you. Well I come from a more simple time and would like to pass on my story in the most simple way I can. To do this I must start at the beginning. For, you see, I haven't always been undead. That would be absurd. Of course I had to be human once or I couldn't possibly exist before you now, living, undead or otherwise.

My apologies, I tend to become carried away in my thoughts on occasion. Let us begin with my story.

My name is William Beaumont Castor. But please, get used to knowing me simply as Castor. The reason will become apparent later. I was born in 1227 in Warwick, a nice place in the middle of England. My middle name comes from our masters, the Beaumont family whom we served, living in Warwick Castle. My father was a huntsman and my mother a scullery maid, and they live ed together in a small dwelling near to the castle itself. I was raised as a stable boy, tending the horses and watching the lords and dukes as they would ride and practise their jousting skills. Often as a boy I would dream of joining them, pulling on my armour and riding into battle in far away lands.

This was merely a daydream though. The older I became, the more I realised I would never be anything more than a servant, helping to place food on the table of those fortunate enough to be born into the right family, or ensuring their horse was well tended. We didn't worry about rights or pay back then. A warm home and a warm meal were enough to keep us happy.

All of this changed when I was eighteen.

It was 1245, and our lives were in something of a turmoil. Ownership of the castle had changed a few times in the past year or so, and we found ourselves in the employ of the countess of Warwick, lady Margery. There had been many rumours about her parties and the company she was keeping. Many of the servants at the castle believed she was practising the occult, and there were whispers about a strange group of Italians visiting from rome.

Father had been having difficulties with his health for some time which had forced me away from the stables and into the woods. To begin with I never felt comfortable with the bow, but need drove me to perfect my art. One summer day I returned to the castle alone at dusk, my kills hanging from my shoulder and my bow swinging lazily from my right hand. And there she was, walking in the courtyard, lady Margery. Her beauty was stunning to me, and I was frozen solid as she approached.

"My, what an impressive feast we shall have, thanks to you, huntsman." She said, her voice was warm and comforting. Her striking features made it impossible for me to even speak. Her skin was white as milk and her eyes seemed to glow like fire. "Tell me, what is your name?" She asked.

"Castor m'lady." I blurted out. It seemed she had the ability to make me speak despite my crippling nerves.

She came closer still, encasing my hand in hers, the flesh was cold to the touch, like iron. She lead my to the growing shadows of the stables where I had spent so much of my youth, pulling my kills from my shoulder and setting them down on the ground beside my bow,

"Tell me Castor, do you dream of far away lands and the immortality of battle?" She had me deep within her spell with her voice, it was like warm honey.

"Of course m'lady." I replied, almost unable to stand, such was the intensity of her gaze.

"Then so it shall be." She whispered into my ear. The scent of her breath was almost enough to lift me from my boots. I was powerless to resist as she pulled open my clothing and sunk her teeth into my neck, drawing blood. The darkness quickly took me as I felt her powerful grip keeping me upright. Then blackness closed in on me and the stable was gone.

I do not recall anything from the days which followed. My parents told me later that I had a fever which burned hotter than the very fire in our stove. Then I was still for the longest time and they feared I had died.

Of course they were right, I had passed from the land of the living, but when I awoke I felt different. I could see the hairs on mothers face even though it had always been perfectly smooth before, and she was a considerable distance away. I could smell their sweat and their anxiety. When I sat upright they cheered with joy. Their son was alive and well. They should have noticed that I was different, but their elation hid the details from them.

After a day with my parents and them recounting the tale of my illness, a castle guard knocked on our door and summoned me to join him at the court of the Lady. I willingly followed, noticing that it was now quite dark, the sun having set some time previously. I had bid farewell to mother and father at the instruction of the guard and now was left to wonder what lay in store for me. Would I be executed for my actions? I had not told a sole, so I hoped this could not be.

I was brought into a chamber where the Lady sat, surrounded by pale faced people in robes. She was even more striking that before, and I found myself tongue tied.

"Good sir," she stated in a very authoritative voice, "I have bestowed upon you the position of knight. You will train to become part of my elite armed force. There is tell of a battle heading our way and we shall need all the force we can muster." There was a polite applause and I lifted my chin, now feeling my life was about to become something more than I had dreamed of. "But first, you must eat." As she spoke her voice became dark and there was a soft chuckling in the room.

A girl was brought into the chamber, perhaps a year or two my junior. She was bound and her eyes were wide with fear. The fear translated into a smell so overpowering that I found myself approaching her automatically. I could see the veins in her throat pumping her warm life blood. It's pace was fast, the thud of her heart like a drum in my ears. I felt like I was moving faster than I could before, and all around me I could hear murmurs of approval. Then I was upon her, my teeth piercing her flesh and her warm blood flowing into my mouth.

Never before had I tasted anything like this. My entire body tingled and I could feel her energy pass into me. Then she was limp and I dropped her to the stone floor, wiping the remains of her blood from my mouth like an animal. All around me were smiles of approval. Then the Lady stood.

"Welcome, Castor, to the elite."


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2 - Hunger 1245

The weeks that followed were strange and yet exciting. I was given the lowest rank of the castle's elite guard and made to train with five other new recruits. It seemed our Lady was preparing to defend herself. We were told by our trainer, Sergeant Matteson that we must never be seen outside when the sun was shining. This rule was absolute and a single violation could lead to the destruction of everything we were working for.

I found my previous training with the bow gave me an advantage over my fellow trainees, but each of us was from a different background, and so had different skill. Despite spending time with the horses, I found riding to be a challenge at first, yet some of the others had been riding since childhood. Despite my hunting skills I would often become disoriented in the woodland and require a compass to find my way, where others could navigate naturally.

Another rule we were given was that we must never, under any circumstances, hunt the people in our town. We would be allowed to go and feed once a week, and we must travel to an assigned place. Here we would be required to use our skills to hunt without raising alarm amongst the local people.

The first week of training was hard, the six of us learning how to use our new skills, our bodies reacting in strange new ways to our surroundings. We were told we must not walk amongst the ordinary people until we could control our hunger, a demand I found confusing as I did not carry any such hunger. It was only during the day in our barracks when we were at rest, chatting casually that this fell into place. The other five each confessed to killing their families the moment they arose in their new state. They simply could not control their bloodlust. I, on the other hand, had found my senses went wild only when the terrified girl was brought to me in the ladies chamber. Following this conversation I was left confused, but I knew I would be able to use this to my advantage.

During that first week, Matteson gave us all directions to our feeding grounds. I would be travelling north to a town called Leicester where I would find a suitable victim to provide me with sustenance for the training that would follow. As instructed I travelled by night and arrived in the early hours, camping in the woodland to the south of the town. I lay in wait, watching and waiting as the sun passed high over head and sank into the horizon on the West. Now was the time.

Our instruction was to hunt those who would not be missed. The homeless wraiths, the prostitutes, the old and lonely. I followed this mandate to the letter, selecting a working girl who looked like she could be in her thirties, but was probably only sixteen at most. I approached her as if to proposition her for her services, and lead her into a dark alley. She was far more amicable than I had even hoped for, a result I would later find was due to my newly refined features. She approached me casually and I lay my teeth into her jugular, hot life flowing once more into my mouth. But this time it was not pleasant. It was like the bread and meat I had attempted to eat early in the week, hollow and without taste. When I was done I did not feel satisfied, in fact I felt even more need to eat. Then my questioning mind was provided with an answer.

As I wiped my mouth clean of the tasteless blood of the whore a scream pierced the night. One of her colleagues had come around the corner and spotted the macabre scene I had created, the girl crumpled at my feet and her blood coating my chin. Suddenly my nostrils were flooded with the sweetest aroma. I could almost hear the blood pumping in her veins, and suddenly I was upon her, dragging her back into the alley like some weightless doll. I tore open her throat and drunk deeply from her. This time the taste was perfect. I could feel a fresh strength coursing through me. The feeling was orgasmic, a deep pleasure that I associated with my many rolls in the hay with the girls from the castle kitchens.

I let the body hit the floor and stood for a while, just thinking. So it was fear. The adrenaline flooded into her bloodstream had made it irresistible to me. This would explain why I had been able to speak with my parents after I had risen. It explained why the first girl had tasted so empty, she had not been afraid. In fact I suspect some part of her had know what was coming and had welcomed death.

I quickly disposed of the corpses and made my way back to the castle. The journey seemed much quicker this time, a renewed strength in my legs allowing me to travel at impossible speed. The darkened countryside was to me illuminated like a bright summers day blurring past as I moved, almost above the ground.

Back at the castle there was something happening. I made my way into the barracks to find only four of my companions.

"Where's Albright?" I asked, scanning the room, noticing for the first time how the eyes of the other men seemed to glow bright red.

"I don't know. There seems to be a commotion." Replied Smith, the tallest of our group. A large man with dark black hair and a square face.

"There was something about a killing in the town." Said Williams, a burly red headed scotsman with a thick red beard and a short temper.

Our barrack was a simple stone room in the outer section of the castle. The only furniture was six wooden chairs. This had come as a shock to begin with but soon we found that none of us could sleep. In fact Matteson told us we would never sleep again.

The next face we saw was Mattesons. He burst into the room and ordered us to attention immediately out in the training field where we had been practising our skills. It was surrounded on all sides by high walls, and there was a small hut containing supplies.

Now the area was filled with people. There was a fire blazing in the centre of the space sending wild shadows dancing on the walls despite the lightening sky in the East. We moved toward the group gathered around the fire and there, on his knees, was Albright, the missing member of our group. Two men were on either side of him, holding him down with his arms outstretched. A slight man was standing at the centre of the group, just behind Albright, and when he saw us arrive he stepped forward. I recognised him as one of the Italians from that night in the castle. His face was unforgettable, round like a penny and white like the moon, a wicked smile splitting the lower half. His hair was long and black, tied back in the way of the europeans. When he spoke it was in perfect English, in a voice that could lull a child to sleep. His words, however, were not so relaxing.

"This recruit has violated one of our most absolute rules by feeding in the immediate area to his home. As a lesson to his fellow recruits, he shall be dealt with swiftly and without remorse." And on his signal the two men pulled his arms from his torso. Then the leader tore the head from the offender. He held it for us to see like a trophy, the eyes still flitting wildly. Then he threw the head into the fire.

"Here ends today's lesson." Spoke the leader, before turning and walking into the morning mist.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3 - preparation 1245 - 1267

As a small boy I had dreamed of travelling the world and finding adventure. I would brush the horses while I dreamed of far away lands. And yet now that I felt capable of travelling anywhere I found myself trapped in what would become a far more mundane existence than I had as a mortal.

For a time, at least.

The training was long and hard, and once we had mastered our bodies and our hunger (which I found less difficult than my companions) we were moved into classes with the mortal knights and guardsmen where we were taught battle tactics. The concept of the classroom was almost too much for many of these men. Entitled brats who would take the positions of generals one day though birthright rather than merit.

During the night we were now allowed to wander the streets of Warwick but that early lesson which resulted in the destruction of Albright had taught us extreme care.

We learned why we could not move around during the day, the late summer sun catching our skin and reflecting like it were made of some precious stone. Except with me it was significantly less. Such that I felt I could pass during daylight, providing I avoided the rays of the sun when it was at it's zenith.

Our eyes had changed as well as our flesh, turning bright red when we fed, but the colour would fade and eventually turn a dark black. Fortunately we did not see this state very often as it would make us all irritable towards each other.

Five men, living in close quarters, working and relaxing. It was a challenge. We each had a different personality and a skill set which matched that personality.

Smith, as I mentioned previously, was a large fellow, tall and broad shouldered. He had tended the land in his past life, often pulling the plough himself when the mules could not. Despite his size he was quiet and would often sink to the rear during formation attacks. He was the strongest amongst us and there was talk of him being the strongest in our force, something we had no chance to test since we were kept separated from the rest of the guard.

I also mentioned Williams, the burly Scot. He came from a land where wild horses could be ridden and he boasted the ability to ride any beast, a claim I was yet to see fail him. He was short tempered and quick to draw his sword, but when we were in the barracks he was genuine and always had a story on hand to ease our tensions.

Lenster was. Strange sort, always making things from the bits of wood he could scavenge around the castle or steal in town. Mostly he made weapons, but every now and then he would produce an item none of us had seen before. He would dub it with a ridiculous name and the rest of us would laugh.

The final member of our group was Hart, a trained medic in his human life, seemed to have even more attuned senses than the rest of us and would always act as a scout. He found he could no longer practise his healing with the humans, as their blood would awaken his craving.

In fact, it seemed the five of us each had a gift of some kind. Smith had his strength, Williams his animal communication, Lenster the sight to make something from nothing and Hart with his senses which were developed beyond any of ours. As time passed I learned that my gift was that I could walk undetected amongst the living. With my dull skin and my bloodlust only activated by the extreme adrenaline rush of fear or passionate battle I could happily surround myself with them and not so much as bat an eye.

The training continued and the time passed by, sunshine giving way to rain, then snow and then the new leaves. The first year was the slowest and after that the time proceeded to fly. In fact almost twenty years were gone before I knew it. Once we had been trained in combat and battle tactics we were moulded into a unit. The five of us would be used as a secret weapon where required, and this would require our teamwork. Our individual skills became collective and we began to operate seamlessly, knowing when we were needed and when to stand back and let another man handle the situation.

I was disappointed initially when I learned that we had been lied to. The only other man like us in the entire army at our castle was Sergeant Matteson. This explained why we were kept separate from the other men. Over time I learned to live with the deception. In truth, it made me feel better about out situation. Instead of being a trainee, never quite able to join the ranks, we were the elite, waiting for an opportunity to prove ourselves.

Of course over those near twenty years we were allowed more freedom, being allowed to choose for ourselves where and when to hunt, taking regular trips into Warwick, and interacting with the other people who lived and served within the castle.

During the year of 1264 there were many whispers. William was now our ruler, the lady Margery having stepped aside, allowing her to depart to Italy with the mysterious fellows who had never once addressed us. The word was strong that there was a war brewing. The barons were planning an uprising behind De Montford who was rallying his forces to challenge the monarchy. This became all to clear to us one dark night.

I was walking on the castle wall as I did most nights after our work was complete. In the distance I saw a flame growing larger. Quickly I found Matteson and reported to him. He told me to round up the others and head for our quarters, so I did, quickly finding them, thanking the lord that they were as predictable as I.

We sat in silence for a long while, listening for any sign of activity. Suddenly we were greeted with the face of Matteson. He looked flustered.

"Collect your belongings." He barked. "We are leaving."

Wordlessly the five of us followed as we headed up to the wall which bordered the river. We all leapt into the cold water and then took off on the other side at a run. There was the roar of men in combat swiftly diminishing into the night and I wondered what would become of us now.

We met a small detachment of Royalists in Coventry who filled us in on the latest. News was spreading that De Montford had taken Warwick Castle and that only added to his power which was growing from the south.

"Let us meet them in open battle!" Raged Williams in his gruff voice. "They will be no match for us, regardless of their number."

"And risk exposure?" Shot back Lenster, his voice calm as always, thoughtful.

We made our way south towards London where we were informed that the King had been captured. We joined with the Kings army lead by his son, Edward. We rode amongst the men, armour and cloth covering our skin from the revealing light of the son until we reached Evesham. Here we were given our first mission.

The plan was to send the army straight at De Montford's men, luring them into the centre, allowing our army to encircle them. During this phase of the battle we were to make our way to the enemy tents and rescue the King.

When the battle commenced everything went to plan. A small number of guardsmen were retained to protect the king and they would be our first combat kills. I took two with my bow, before I drew too close and took the scent of adrenaline. My senses flared and I was like a wild animal, tearing into the remainder of the guard. Soon they were decimated and the king was ours. I saw the rest of my unit looking at me respectfully. In combat training I had never scented adrenaline before, so they had not seen my fury unleashed. Now they knew.

When we returned the King to our base camp it was clear the battle was winding down. De Montford was not only dead, but bits of him were being paraded around the field as the remainder of his men were gutted like salmon.

The next battle we attended was in Chesterfield, and this was an even more convincing rout, as we set to the Earl of Derby's forces in what was almost a massacre. Our skills were used as we were sent after the Earl's elite bowmen, effectively crippling their long range attack and leaving their lesser number helpless to our swordsmen.

By 1267 we were back in the castle, albeit with a new ruler, William De Beauchamp. It seemed that nobody had thought to inform him that an elite unit of Vampire soldiers were residing within his walls. We were now treated as the other men, training alongside them and trying our best not to kill them. Soon enough Matteson had us separated again and we were once again a secret force.

Then Matteson was called upon to go to London. He didn't know why, but he said it sounded vitally important.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4 1271-1272 9th Crusade

Matteson was gone for a long time. In fact it was 1269 before we had any word from him. Once again we spent our time on the secluded training ground during the day and mixing with the humans at night. Our leader being gone made us all worry that trouble was just around the corner as we feared being made to appear outside during the day, or any number of critical actions that could reveal our secret.

From time to time we would train with the other men, and it would take every fibre of my being not to jump on the first man to exhibit a rush of adrenaline and tear out his jugular. In fact we displayed many acts of extreme self discipline, perhaps the most difficult being our agreement to continue with the hunting arrangement. We had found a map of the country and we would take it in turns selecting the targets for our feeding. As we grew more, trained more and fed more we also become faster and stronger. A day long trip now became achievable within just a few hours and this helped immensely because it widened our circle for hunting.

But then, just as we were becoming accustomed to our lives Matteson appeared in the doorway to the barracks and ordered us to pack our scant belongings, as we would be leaving for London there and then. We exchanged puzzled glances. This was odd. We were to disappear into the night without informing anyone else at the castle? We didn't question him though. We knew better than that. There was just something about Matteson that made him more than just a leader. You didn't do what he told you because it was an obligation, you did it because you wanted to, or even needed to in some cases.

So we collected our belongings, which included trivial things such as blankets from our past lives, and we followed Matteson out into the night.

We travelled in the way he had instructed us, moving in a leapfrog fashion in which the man at the rear of the line goes on ahead for a while to scout before waiting for the man who has now become the last in the line to come forward and replace him as scout. This may sound like an arduous way to cover a vast distance, but in fact we were now so attuned to one another that we could perform the switch swiftly and without delay. Hart was always ready to spring to the front and halt our progress if he sensed danger.

The sun was beginning to rise as we slowed our pace to walk into the city like ordinary men. Our wrappings covered our flesh so as to keep us from being given away. This, Matteson told us, was a shame. Before he had set off to collect us he had been told it would rain today. That proved to be bad information.

He led us to a large building by the river. By the time we arrived at the painfully slow pace of the mortal man the area was crawling with people. The city was alive and buzzing with activity. I had never even dreamed of so many people.

We were taken inside and down a flight of stairs to a cold, dark room. Matteson held a lamp though none of us needed it. He motioned for us to sit on the bails of hay spread out on the floor, so we obliged, each placing our bundle of personal items close by.

"The king has requested our presence for a campaign in the holy land." Spoke Matteson, his voice was deep and grating, always filled with a great intensity. The lamp cast flickering shadows behind him, and somewhere in the distance water dripped slowly. "He is sending his oldest son, Prince Edward, to oversee what shall be the ninth crusade. We are to do battle with the Mamluks who have been causing trouble for our settlements in the region. The king knows of us, and our exploits in the Barons war, and he wants us to be present as an elite group of knights." He stood. "Now rest. After nightfall we shall get you some armour befitting of crusade knights."

With that he turned and left us to our thoughts. We were still confused by the whole arrangement and we each spoke our thoughts in hushed voices, but the overall feeling was one of excitement. Finally we were to travel to distant lands and do battle with unseen enemies.

That night we were measured for our armour and we gave our requests for our new weapons. I chose a longbow which was beautifully crafted and came with a quiver full of fine horse bone arrows. They were pliable yet solid, and had virtually no weight in them. As a sidearm I took a silver dagger. I despised the longsword as it was so clumsy, especially in close combat.

Weeks later our armour was ready. We had been living in the cellar of the building by day and prowling the city at night, practising our skills of stalking without being seen.

The armour was amazing to see. It was a dark brown tempered metal like none I had seen before. Every inch of our skin would be covered, and the helmet had a cloth mask which was light enough to see through from the inside, but from the outside one could not even see the eyes of the wearer. It was perfect. Mine was made to incorporate a bow holster and the quiver, as well as a hip clasp for the dagger. This was it, we were ready for battle.

And so our journey began to Antioch. We moved as part of the army of a thousand men to the south coast of England. Here I saw the ocean for the first time, and stopped to stare in wonder. It was early morning and the sun was still yet to rise, but the sky was light enough to see clearly the details of the armada that awaited us close to the shore. After these ships there was nothing but a blue expanse. I had never seen anything like it before, and I had to collect myself as we were beginning to board.

Before we had set sail there had been a rash of killings in the nearby town of Southampton. We knew the journey would be a long one so we fed while we still could. Fortunately for us it was a port town and as such there was no shortage of hookers and sailors to eat.

The journey itself was uneventful. We stopped at ports often, and would generally sail for no more than a day at a time. Once we were into the mediterranean the sailing was smooth. There had been moments out there as we came around what I was told made up Spain and Portugal that the movement of the boat threatened to pitch me over the side. But when we were in the calm waters I was able to relax. We stopped at exotic ports and met new and interesting people, some of whom made a vey nice meal for a knight on a crusade.

In early 1271 we landed on the island of Cyprus where we prepared for battle. From here we set sail for Acre. When we landed we discovered a city under siege, enemy forces set around the city in a static formation. When they saw us landing they quickly dispersed and ran for the hills. The people of Acre were very grateful to us, but our group made every effort to stay out of sight, all the best to keep ourselves from temptation, as we had not yet had a chance to draw our weapons in battle.

We began raiding the nearby area in an attempt to clear out the Mamluk forces, but their number were far greater than ours, so our efforts became night raids, taking them by surprise. We slit the throat of many enemies, but the rate of attack was by no means fast enough and we were far outmatched. It didn't help that we were losing men to the sun. The heat was unbearable at times and our men were not accustomed to drinking the required amount. Heat exhaustion soon became our main enemy, and there was nothing we could do.

We took a major victory in Qaqun, where we slaughtered a great force. This was a feat helped in part by the arrival of Prince Edward's younger brother Edmund and yet more men. We were unleashed in full by night, and the six of us cut a path through the defending army like a hot knife through butter. We took the heart of the enemy leaving the rest of our army to hit the flanks and cause utter devastation. The battle was bloody, and it left us thirsty for more. I was in a frenzy at the height of battle, so much adrenaline in the air it was intoxicating, making me feel like I had taken back a full jug of whisky.

This was our height of the crusade. The rest of the campaign was spent retreating. We found ourselves often leading the way, making a path for the rest of our men as the enemy drove us constantly backwards. When our alliance with the Mongols failed things looked very bleak for us, and we were told our last effort would be a combined land and sea attack.

We were not allowed to be a part of this attack, the prince deciding to keep us close as a personal guard, and maybe this turned out for the best, at least from his point of view. The enemy was ready and easily repelled our forces, sending us in a full retreat to Cyprus. At this point the crusade was all but done, and gradually the men were beginning to depart for home. Edward remained to mediate peace talks with the local armies, and we were retained as his guard.

One night while he slept I was standing guard in his chamber when there was a sudden movement. It was an enemy assassin, and I swiftly moved in for the kill, only to find it was as fast as me, if not more so. When he landed a blow on my jaw I saw shock in his eyes. It was a blow that should have killed a mortal. He was not used to fighting his equals. We tussled, and soon the prince awoke, calling for help. The rest of my unit was standing guard outside, and six of us were not troubled by the one of him. We dismembered him and burned the remains much the same way as we had witnessed the demise of Albright, and then agreed upon a story in which the Prince had taken care of the attacker by himself.

The prince remained in the area until we received bad news, first that his son had died, and second that his father, the King had died. This meant he must return home to take the throne. An assignment that would no doubt require an impenetrable guard.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5 - 1296-1328 First Scottish War of Independence - A man is lost.

Ok, I could just continue to tell you the wars and battles I have fought in, but as you can no doubt tell by now that list would be very long indeed, and also somewhat impersonal.

Now that you have an idea of the kind of life I had been taken into it will be easier for me to jump into the individual stories, and I really hope that will make things more interesting.

So, now we will skip forward a few years in time. To 1297 to be exact. Very little had changed in twenty five years, at least where we were concerned. We continued to act as the Kings guard when he felt it was required, and when we were not active we spent our time in our home of Warwick castle.

We had spent a long weekend hunting together in the South West, and when we returned Mattteson stopped us as we entered the barracks. I still don't know why he never accompanied us on our hunts, but he liked to keep to himself. I suppose he thought it helped him to retain an air of authority. Anyway, there he was, waiting for us in the cool dawn of a misty morning.

"Collect your battle gear boys, looks like we have some action." He said in a low, gruff voice. "Out here, form up, fast as you can."

I picked up my armour and weapons sharing a glance with Williams. During the past few years I had become closer with him than any other in our unit, although I can't really explain it. We were very different in many ways, I was quiet and reserved, staying to the shadows and keeping my thoughts to myself while Williams always had something to say and would often be at the front of our group, often causing trouble by getting into arguments with the local people. His temper was as fiery as his red hair and beard, but underneath the exterior he was a calm intelligent man who had a sharp wit. That was probably what drew us together, the chance to match wits and laugh at the people in our area.

Many of our evenings had been spent in the taverns of Warwick, pointing out the failings of the patrons, and thanks to our immortality we were presented with a never ending stream of new drunkards to mock.

Back to that night in the barracks, and the look Williams gave me was a serious one. He waited for the others to leave the room before he spoke softly into my ear.

"Ah dahnne like this lad, sammin danne feel right." His Scottish accent often made him difficult to understand, but I was always able to get his meaning.

"What are you thinking Willie?" I asked, keeping my voice as low as his.

"Ahm nae sure. Jus a feelin ah supose, probablah notthin." He shook his head as he walked out into the morning and I followed, making sure my wrappings were secure on my hands.

We gathered in front of Matteson who looked at us each in turn. "Ok lads, our king has called upon us once more." He was pacing slowly a few feet in front of us. "It seems there is some rest in the North, and talk is rife of an uprising of the Scots. We must meet with a gathering force in Inverness where we will be given assignments." As he was taking a moment, Williams stepped forward.

"Sarge, ya canne expect mah tae fight mah own people." His voice was loud and his chest was puffed out proudly. I feared this may end badly.

"Williams," Matteson spoke in a calm, even voice, "I expect nothing other than for you to follow the orders of our king." The two were now very close, the Sergeant towering over his subordinate. "But I can understand your feeling on the matter. I will give you a choice. Stand with us, not as a soldier of the king of England, but as the mercenary you truly are, or leave now and travel north. But know this, should we meet in battle, I will ask my men to allow you no quarter."

Both men breathed deeply as they faced each other, and finally Williams spoke, loud and clear. "In tha case, ah hope we shall ne'er meet in bahttle." He shook hands with each of us in turn, and finally he approached me. I extended my hand and he slapped it away, instead embracing me in a giant bear hug. He whispered in my ear "See ye soon laddie."

Then he turned and walked into the surrounding woodland, the rest of us just standing there watching. Matteson allowed him to disappear from sight before he spoke again. "The next time you see that man he will be under a kill order, and I will expect you to fulfil that order. Come now." And he turned, leading us into the trees.

As it would happen, we would not see Williams again throughout the war, which was a relief to me as I spent many long moments alone with the troubled thought of our next meeting, and how he would most likely be more capable of taking care of me than I would of him.

Much of the war passed slowly for us. We did not join up with the main forces, but instead held a single position in Alnwick where news would reach us of the Scots advances into the Northern territories of England. Then one day in the summer of 1298 Matteson asked me to walk with him in the castle grounds.

"Castor, I have been asked to provide a single man for a mission, and I feel it is most suited to your skills." A look of confusion befell my face. "It will call upon your ability with the bow. Will you go and perform to the best of your ability?"

"Yes sir." Was all I could manage, the pride was swelling within my heart, almost making it beat for the first time in over fifty years.

"Very well, be ready at dawn, I will give you directions."

Since my death I had not slept a wink, an unfortunate side effect of my condition, but that night was particularly restless for me, and I took to pacing the castle walls, endlessly walking around and around. When the sky began to lighten I found Matteson near to the main gate and took a map from him. I was already dressed in my battle armour and my bow was in my hand. The trip North to Falkirk was fast and I met with the contact as instructed. I was ushered into a barn where I was asked to submit my bow. This was a worry for me, as my bow was my main weapon, but I went along with it, as a good soldier did not question his orders. This would turn out to be a great choice as I was given a new bow, a longbow. It was long and supple, and the range was much further than that of my old bow. I went to a range with the other men in the newly created rank of Kings Long-bowmen where we practised our shots. At first I felt the target was an impossible distance away even with my increased strength and vision, but soon I discovered the amazing power of this new weapon, and my abilities gave me the edge, allowing me to hit the target every time.

After a week of training with our new weapon we were lead out to a battlefield. I had done a great job of keeping myself separate from the rest of the brigade and now I stood off to one side as our instructor told us to take aim. I could clearly see the army of Scots approaching, and we were well outside of their range, but they fell deep within our firing range. The marker was dropped and we opened fire. I killed a hundred men that day, before the battle was over. They never even got close enough to loose a single bolt into our ranks. While the pikemen picked off the remnants of the opposition I turned and began to retreat. The instructor, a vile little man, came to me and spoke softly. "Castor, you performed well today. I will have you by my side in the future."

Needless to say I was not happy about this thought. Even when I was back at Alnwick I couldn't rid myself of the weasel like sound of his voice. Give me a fair battle, or a hunt any day, but a massacre at the hands of an advancement in technology hardly seemed like a victory to me and despite the attempts of my fellow Vampires I never told this tale until now. All they saw was my shiny new longbow.

The rest of the war was tiresome for us and I won't bore you with the details, but towards the end there was another episode of note.

In 1305 Matteson changed his title to Sir John Menteith, at the personal request of King Edward. The task at hand was the hunting of William Wallace, a thorn in the side of the English throughout the duration of the war. Menteith led us on what seemed like the most difficult hunt we had faced since becoming vampires, and this had us wondering if we were in fact hunting a man at all.

We were camped on a hillside at Robroyston near Glasgow when Hart gently alerted us. He had sensed a presence and he was not sure if it was human. Remember this was a time before instagram or even newspapers, so we had no idea what our quarry would look like, other than a sketchy description Menteith had been given by the Kings aids. This felt right though, like our hunt was coming to an end.

Lenster stepped out onto the the hilltop to block the way of the newcomer. "Wallace?" He asked in a loud, deep voice. The other man stood still for what felt like an eternity before he slowly nodded. He was a beast of a man and I felt glad that I was not going to be tackling him alone.

The rest of us stepped out of the mist to encircle our quarry. Now the hunt was over, the fight must begin. Smith bull-rushed Wallace, but the Scot sidestepped his advance, crouching in readiness for the next attack which came from both Hart and Menteith. They were both taken down with a long, round blow to the back of their heads that resulted in a loud cracking sound. Then Lenster stepped forward and exchanged blows with Wallace, each blow landing with a loud crack. Finally Wallace performed a move I had never seen before where he moved quickly around the back of Lenster and held his arms high above his head while applying pressure to the back of the neck. When I heard a creak and saw a fissure in Lenster's marble flesh I reacted with lightning speed, loosing an arrow in an instant which impaled Wallace through the shoulder. In a flash Smith was upon him, and the fight was over.

We found a cavalry brigade and commandeered some horses, riding back to London with our prize. Legend will tell that he was hung, drawn and quartered, but it will not tell that the parts were burned and head on the spike outside of the Tower was that of a murderer and rapist from the cells who loosely resembled the Scotsman. I know, because it was me who took his head and placed it on that spike.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6 1332 -1338 2nd Scottish war of independence - A further loss.

It didn't take long for me to develop a deep seated hatred of Scotland. Before you get upset about that and go telling me how wonderful a place it is, and how you have family there, I should ask, how much time did you spend in the boarder lands during the early part of the fourteenth century? To that end I should also ask how much time you have spent camped out in fields or woodland during the winter months.

Yes, as a vampire I don't feel the cold in the way that mortals do, but I still don't enjoy being cold and wet. I had spent my human life in Warwick, not the driest of places on planet Earth, but certainly not the wettest. And I had also always lived in something. My trip to the holy land in the last crusade introduced me to extreme heat, something which I enjoyed. It was comfortable and dry. But then my activities North of the boarder in the first Scottish war taught me how miserable I could be when I was out in the open and the cold rain was deluging on my head.

So imagine my mood when Menteith came into our barracks back at Warwick castle one cold autumn morning in 1333 to let us know we would be moving North again. There had been reports of another war brewing, the agreements in place were forced and most of the barons and peasants involved were not pleased with their government. I was not pleased either, but for my own, selfish reasons.

"Pick up your bow, and let us be gone!" Said Lenster, who had decided he should take the mantle of the mouth of our group.

"Lenster, I grow tired of this war already, and I have yet to loose a single arrow in part of it." Was my reply, as I sat cross legged and armed on the floor, like a petulant child.

"We cannot dismiss these orders." Said Hart, his voice as calm and clear as ever. "If the weather bothers you, then take my hide. It will keep you dry." He threw me his best deer hide cloak. I decided I should heed his words and follow. An act of such generosity would not be repeated soon. I collected my bow, quiver and armour and followed my unit out into the grey morning, wondering why it must always be morning when these journeys began.

The march did not start especially well, because the heavens opened almost immediately. It also didn't help matters that we could not travel at our usual pace for the majority of the journey because we were meeting a battalion to the North at Nottingham castle that included a division of king's long-bowmen. At least that made me feel a little better about the whole thing, a chance to work with the bowmen again was something I had been looking forward to for thirty years.

However, I was not permitted to join them when we arrived in Nottingham, and nor did they seem to want to have anything to do with me. The word had spread that we were an elite group of king's guards, and that we did not integrate with the rank and file. I guess this was the case mainly because we could not join them during the day without our wrappings, which must have made us seem like a rather strange lot. We joined their force for a few days while they made final preparations, hiding out in the caves beneath the city in the day, wandering the streets at night.

The four of us were sitting in what the locals referred to as a pub. Ale was being sold and the place was full of soldiers, all keeping their distance from us.

"I don't think they like us very much." Boomed Smith, always one to state the obvious.

"It would be folly for us to care what anyone thinks of us." Said Lenster, using his important voice again. "We are the most powerful warrior unit in this country, and we would all do well to remember it."

"Care must be taken when boasting my friend." Hart, always the sage one. "For power will bring with it challenge. No king will be happy with a force that could take his throne from him."

I looked up from my flagon of ale. "What king are we on now, anyway?" I asked. I had fallen somewhat out of touch with the news over the past decade or so.

"Edward, of course." Sneered Lenster. He was a staunch royalist.

"Oh. Which Edward?" I took a long draught of ale.

"Third I think." Smith said, foam in his beard.

Lenster looked at us like we were fools. "Of course it is the third. Now come, let us return to our quarters before the break of day."

I spent the following day staring out of a window, watching the rain fall steadily. I was beginning to question what I was doing here. What were my motives. I was about to spend more time alone in the Scottish countryside with three men whom I didn't really care for, and for what? I didn't get paid for any of this, and it wasn't even as though I had food and drink provided. All that was given to me was the freedom to hunt and train.

So what was the most highly skilled bowman doing, marching through the rain with three fellow beasts and a legion of men? I did not know. What I did know was that I was growing impatient with my current lot in life. I thought about the others. Menteith had no such issue because he never travelled with us. He would appear at the perfect moment to relay orders and then vanish into the night. I had never even seen him fight. Smith lacked the mental capacity to challenge the situation and would probably follow until there were no orders remaining. Lenster would always do as he was told providing the directions came from the Monarch whom he considered all powerful. So that left Hart who seemed to simply enjoy the lifestyle. He no longer had to deal with people and I felt that maybe he enjoyed the killing a little more than the rest of us.

So that left me. I was torn with a need to fit in with others. I longed to join the ranks of the bowmen, but I knew I would never be allowed. I also knew I would never be accepted by them. So what then? Continue this life? If I must. I knew time was on my side so I decided to do everything in my power to see it through. Better times must be coming. But my resolve would not stop my complaining.

"For the sake of the lord Castor, please shut up about the rain." Lenster said in a low growl. We were in woodland somewhere West of Edinburgh. It was a few years later and we had been involved in a few minor skirmishes, but now we had a real mission.

"What are we doing?" I asked. Lenster held up a hand, pointing toward Hart who was crouched on a ridge looking out.

"Menteith sent us to investigate news of a group of French soldiers approaching." He held a finger to his lips because Hart had now raised his hand. He had spotted something. He fell back to join us under cover.

"They are coming. Looks like several hundred away to the south, approaching the city."

Lenster pulled back his hair as he often did when he was stressed. "Several hundred you say?" Hart nodded, his expression grim. "Then Smith and I shall return to camp with the news. You two should try and delay them." Before I had the chance to protest he was gone, Smith following in his wake.

I put on my helmet and picked up my bow. "Come on, I need you to spot for me." I told Hart as I crept forward to his lookout post. For several hours I fired upon the advancing army. I could see their tricolour flags and make out their uniforms, but I was relying on Hart with his advanced vision to help me pick off the leaders. When I ran out of arrows we sat in silence. There was no way they could see us up here. We would be out of range from human eyes by a good distance.

"Hart, what do you make of this?" I asked, feeling the rain tap on my helmet.

"The war? A waste of time if you ask me." Hart was a sinister sort, but he was also wise.

"No I mean us. Our unit. Do you think we are the only one?"

"Castor, I have tried not to dwell on this, but since you mention it, yes, I think we are the only ones. They treat us like we are something to hide, and rightly so. If the men in our platoon knew our true nature do you think they would accept us?" I shook my head, rainwater dripping to and fro.

"Hart, I feel we were created for another time, and now we are left to be used for the dirty work. Almost as if we have been forgotten."

"I know what you mean. When we trained there was purpose, and when we returned from the holy land we seemed to be set for a life as the Kings own guard. I fear that ended when the king died. The young Edward must not have been told of our abilities and neither was his son."

I looked at the steel sky. "I hope something changes." I said, mostly to myself.

It was as if my prayer was answered immediately. The trees were suddenly alive with men, and they smelled different from the locals. They reminded me of the journey to the holy land. Their shouts were in French, and neither of us understood. What we did understand was the row of arrows pointed at us. We gave each other a swift nod and then unleashed hell.

I went straight at the nearest man, pulling his arm towards me so that I could tear out his throat. A well placed fist to the skull floored the next man and a kick sent several others toppling. From its clasp I produced my dagger and proceeded to slice my way through their ranks with it as a jungle explorer would carve a path with a machete. I had my bow in my left hand as I turned the air red with the dagger in my right. When I realised I was outside of their perimeter I looked back to see Hart who was on fire. He was screaming at me to run. Then I noticed their archer had a flaming arrow pointed directly at me. I moved just in time to see it buried in a tree right behind where my head had just been, a flame blossoming from the point of impact. That was all the invitation I needed. I took off as fast as I could go.

When I arrived at the camp it was a hive of activity. Lenster and Smith were talking with Menteith. They fell silent when I approached. Did I really look so shocked?

"They got Hart." Was all I could manage.

"Who, and how?" Asked Menteith. He was suddenly very urgent.

"The French. With fire." I was not out of breath, since I didn't breathe, but i was still struggling to make myself calm.

"Were they men?"

I thought for a moment. "Yes. I am certain of it."

Menteith cursed. "Then they know about us. This is unfortunate. We shall need to take great care in the coming months."

For the next two years we remained in the woods. We were limited to scouting and reconnaissance missions which felt like a complete waste of our talents. But each time we saw him, Menteith told us we had to remain hidden for our safety. I found this confusing. If we worked together, then surely no army of men could stop us. However, we did as we were told. Scouting suddenly became much more difficult for us now we were without Hart. We were having to rely on our own senses, and while they were much greater than that of a human, they were nothing like Hart's. Tensions in our group grew. I felt the others blamed me for the death of Hart, yet there was nothing I could do. The French had been prepared for us.

There was a low lying mist when we returned to camp with our latest report. Menteith took us into his tent and closed the flap.

"Boys, it seems the French are causing issue for us on all fronts. I hope you are ready for a change of scenery because we are moving." My face obviously lit up because Lenster looked at me with a wary grin. "Bring everything. Hopefully we will not have to return to this land for some time." He lead us out and into the mist.

The last thing I can tell you about this period is the strange meeting we had in a clearing in the South of England. The four of us were resting after leaving London the previous night, hiding in the undergrowth, when we were all disturbed by movement. There was a man on the opposite side of the clearing and he looked confused. He was still in the shade, far away enough from us to not be a problem. But there was a chance of him running into us. Sure we were covered but four large men were easily found in bright daylight.

Menteith motioned for me to go and speak to him. Get him to leave. So I pulled myself up and stepped into the circle of sunlight. Sending me was a wise choice, as I could easily pass for mortal. I approached the man. He was dressed well, as if he had left a fine home, but some time ago, because most of his dress clothes were torn and dirty. Then he sensed me and turned. His white shirt was covered in maroon, dried blood. It stained his chin too, and he leaped into a fighting stance, moving into the sunlight. His skin reflected the light in the same way as my brethren. This was all we needed.

"Sir, we mean you no ill." I said, and with that the other three revealed themselves. The stranger crouched, unsure wether to run or fight. I persevered. "What is your name?" I asked. He reeked of death and his eyes burned bright red. He was newborn, I was sure.

"Alistair." He said in a gruff voice, unsure even of himself.

"How did you find us?" I asked, suddenly realising that he was not there by coincidence.

"I do not know. I seem capable of tracking anyone. I found your scent outside of the city and followed it." He looked at me strangely. "Why do you not shine, if you are like me?"

"It is my gift." I said. "It allows me to walk in the day amongst men. But I daresay I could not track like you." He nodded slowly. It was like speaking with someone fresh from a long sleep. Just then Menteith stepped forward.

"Friend, my unit is in need of a scout. Will you join us? We are to fight in France and Spain." I felt somehow roused. Had it been me I would have certainly joined. But Alistair shook his head. He slowly stepped backwards into the darkness of the woods. "Very well. We have no quarrel with you." Menteith called. "Go in peace, until we meet again."

The stranger disappeared into the forest and we were alone again. None of us spoke of the incident again on out journey south.


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7 1338-1453 The Hundred Years War - More than meets the eye

Ok, the hundred years war. Firstly I would like to begin by asking the historians how they came up with that one. It lasted well over a hundred years and was in three separate parts. Anyway, it lives as the longest military conflict in the history of man, and I really don't want to get into the politics of the war. I was not interested back when I was a part of it, and I'm just as uninterested now.

We arrived in Dover as a somewhat bedraggled group, all except for Menteith, who somehow was able to appear in a new set of armour each time he met with us. The rest of us looked a real state. Our once proud matt black armour was pitted and in places corroding. Our cloth wrappings were in a worse state, dampened by the weather and eaten at by time itself. When I looked at Smith and Lenster I felt somewhat ashamed. We looked more like street urchins than the finest warriors of the English crown.

As we walked toward the harbour in Dover we were met with many stares. Could the state of the Kings army be so poor as to be suiting its men in such dated equipment? I think Menteith caught the meaning in these looks because he pulled us to one side of the street. It was the middle of the day but there was a steady rain falling which blocked the sun, allowing us to walk freely amongst the people. However, we were accustomed to covering our skin, even when it wasn't necessary. Only at night would we walk the streets without our armour.

"You men are a disgrace." He told us, staring in wonder, only now realising how dated our uniforms were. "Come with me." He said, leading us off the high street and into a small military compound. How he knew these places even existed amazed me. I was struggling to remember the way to the docks.

He led us through the compound to the armoury where we were able to pick new uniforms. The quartermaster informed us that most of what was here had been returned by other knights, but there were some new items buried in the pile.

I found a new helmet that gave me a clear sight, chainmail body protection and a tunic of yellow and black with a crest on the front. The crest looked familiar and when I asked him, the quartermaster told me it was the crest of the Kings Longbow-men. That settled it then. The other two picked up their own choices, Lenster going for something very strange looking. He had somehow combined various pieces to come up with a lightweight covering that offered him complete protection. Smith, on the other hand, took the bulky, old style horse riding knight approach. For a mortal this choice would have been poor, but Smith was so strong he could easily walk in this bulky armour.

Next we boarded a ship which took us to the other side of the channel. This was not a direct journey, however, as we laid waste to several French galleons that were waiting to attack the English side of the water.

Once on land we discovered we were amongst the first units to land, and that we would be staying just outside of Calais until more men arrived. Then we would either move South to Gascony or North towards the low countries. We arrived at the camp under cover of darkness and the four of us hustled into a tent, eager to beat the sunrise. There was a man already in the tent, a wizened old fellow with white hair and beard, sucking gently on a pipe. He regarded us with cold eyes. Eyes that had seen everything there was to see.

"The king is sending the undead to fight his battles now, then?" He said, with a knowing grin.

"What are you talking about old man?" Asked Menteith, always protecting us and our secret.

"Oh please. Your stench filled the tent before your bodies even did." He laughed to himself. "I ask you not to be complacent out there. Our people may be ignorant to your kind, but the French?" He shook his head, smoke billowing from his pipe. "Their aristocracy is full of your kind. You are no secret weapon to these people. Handle yourselves with care."

We took the old man at his word, making sure to be fully covered when we were outside during the day. The locals were observant, and I had a feeling that any information they could find would be relayed to their army.

Then, after a couple of years of just sitting around watching people age, things finally happened. Since we were living in more of a camp now we were able to listen to bits of news such as that of the king moving on the French following their allegiance with the Scots. There was word that he was in fact the rightful heir to the throne of the kingdom of France, and that was not something the French wanted. They were already upset that he claimed Gascony as part of the English empire. We had heard of various battles around both England and France, and we really were becoming agitated with our inaction. Menteith came into the tent one night and sat cross legged, completing our circle. We had taken to spending time in this fashion to meditate. It was peaceful and we didn't have to make conversation. However, our leader clapped his hands to gain our attention.

"The war is starting to heat up gentlemen, and I have been asked to deploy each of you. Before we begin with your assignments, know this." He looked each of us in turn straight in the eyes. He was deadly serious. "We are the only vampires in the English army. The only others in our country that I know of are the gentry who refuse to fight alongside the soldiers."k

"I knew it." I breathed.

"For the love of god Castor, not now!" He hissed through his teeth. "Now do you want your assignments or not?" The three of us nodded. "Very well. Smith, you are going it on foot with the pikemen. I have told your new captain that you have severe burns, and will need to keep your armour on."

Smith nodded. "Any restraint in battle sir?"

"Show no mercy." There was a moments silence. "Lenster, you will be joining the sappers. They are in need of a good engineer. Just keep your mouth shut and stay loyal to the crown."

Lenster smiled and placed a fist over his hear. Then Menteith turned to me. "As for you Castor, you finally have your wish. Kings longbow-men." I joined Lenster with a satisfied smile. At last I would be part of a real unit.

"One last thing lads. Remember this. Take utmost care when and where you hunt. I shall no longer be around to keep an eye on you, so be vigilant at all times."

I gulped. "Forgive me sir, but where are you going?" I just couldn't help myself.

"That is really none of your business." He looked at me with his blazing red eyes cold and devoid of emotion. "However, should you need to contact me, I will be in the kings personal guard. Something known as Chivalry is being discussed and I am likely to be a part of it. Now go and find your new units."

The four of us shook hands and said goodbye. As much as I had grown to dislike these three other men I would find life difficult without them being there every single day.

That night I walked to the encampment at Marquis and met up with the infantry unit based there. The army was not quite the organised machine it would come to be, more a collection of small militia owned by the various landowners of our country, so I was merely hopeful of becoming part of the correct group. Fortunately for me I found the correct place quickly. I was spotted with my bow and the crest on my tunic by one of the guardsmen standing outside the camp. He pointed the way for me, and soon I found myself standing before a lithe fellow with a clean shaven face and dark, sunken eyes. He regarded me calmly.

"So you would be the new recruit, would you?" He asked. Since the answer was rather obvious I chose to remain silent, gently nodding. "Then I welcome you to the house of Lancaster. I am Captain Walters. You join a fine group of archers, but if you are half as good as your sergeant told me then I feel you shall fit right in." He clapped his hand onto my shoulder and lead me into the main part of the camp, where he pointed at a yellow tent. "This will be your home." He said, and turned, moving into the night quickly.

I opened the flap and three faces stared out at me, pale with wide eyes. They moved aside as I entered and then crowded around me. One by one they introduced themselves. I don't recall their names and to be frank it is not important.

For the next ten years I travelled with the bowmen. I was involved in several battles, and my name began to be know throughout the group, as I not only handled my bow excellently, but in the skirmishes that proceeded the main battles I unleashed my inner animal. This was not by choice, you understand, but when the sweet stench of adrenaline flowed into my nose I was powerless to stop myself.

We marched South towards Paris itself, then we marched North, pillaging as we went. But then the black death struck and the tide of war was stopped cold in it's tracks. I found the plague to be an ally, as my fellow soldiers who were beginning to age must have started to notice my unchanging features. New men were unfamiliar with me, and I generally kept myself apart from them where I could. It was, however, a difficult time for everyone, including me. The lack of healthy people meant that my food source very quickly diminished. I found hunting in small villages almost impossible, as the healthy were protected, and hunting in cities was a terrible idea because everybody was dying of the disease.

It took a long time for the plague to pass, and when it finally did, the war resumed. I had been stationed in Northern France all through the duration, and was glad to be on the move.

There had been stories that the King had sent forth his son, known as the Black Prince to lead us, to drive the nail of the English crown into the heart of the French aristocracy. When I heard these tales, and those of his exploits, I had no idea that I would soon meet him. And I was in for a shock.

The morning was cold and misty, and the rest of the men were fast asleep in their tents. I was outside of the perimeter, walking as I did on most mornings, when I heard hoofs. There before me was a magnificent steed with a rider who was clad entirely in black armour. He gave off a feeling of such power I had to fight the urge to kneel, but then he pulled off his helmet.

"Menteith?" I was astounded. The prince slid off his horse to look me in the eye.

"Please, call me Edward. And yes. It's a long story, but the king does not want his son to die in battle. This is my personal favour to him." We shook hands as old friends do. "How is being one of the men?"

"In truth I feel somewhat isolated. Maybe more than I did when we were a unit." I sighed. "But I get to fire my bow and fight, which passes the time."

We parted then, and I spent the next century moving around the French countryside. When news reached me of the death of the black prince I feared for my friend, until I realised that he would not have been the one to die. In fact, stories of the decline in health of the prince did not match his actions on the battlefield. It made the story clear in my mind. The prince was dead, Menteith was not.

The war raged on, with the English advancing and being pushed back. I found myself more often than not alone in the woods, scouting and looking to pick off leaders from a distance. The more I did this, the more I enjoyed it. However, the death of Hart had taught me to always be on the move. Never camp for too long.

In 1415 I was given a message upon my return from a scouting mission. King Henry V was in dire trouble. His army was outmanned, and under supplied. They were about to be routed in Agincourt. I left atonce, bow in my right hand, blade on my belt. When I arrived, the battle had begun. I could see the English were not faring well at all, and the French were closing in on all sides. This gave me an idea. Moving as fast as my legs would allow, I circled around the rear of the advancing French and gradually took their supplies from them by setting fire to the carts. I stole the flammable bows from their own archers and used them, rupturing great holes in their lines. Finally I joined my brothers in the pitched battle on the ground. We destroyed them that day, and the king ordered the execution of many prisoners. I made sure my actions were never known, leaving the king to believe it was one of the great victories in history thanks to his battle techniques.

In 1428 I was in a villiage called Patay when I saw something that made me flee. There had been much talk of Joan of Arc and her amazing rally to win the city of Orleans, and the subsequent push she had lead to force the English army back. At Patay I saw her in action. I was in the line of long bowmen when there was a terrible roar. Armour clashed and bodies sailed through the air. I turned to see a wolf, some seven feet in length, with pure black hair, tearing into my fellow bowmen. I was able to get myself out of the fray, taking a few French out along the way, but when I was clear of the battlefield I turned for a reason I cannot explain. I saw the wolf beast, still quite clear with my vision, as it suddenly became the figure of a beautiful young woman. An aide handed her a bundle of chain mail and she dressed, filling perfectly the description of one Joan of Arc.

I didn't stop retreating until I was back within the walls of Warwick Castle.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8 - 1455-1485 - Wars of the roses - Freedom

To my great surprise, I was not the first to arrive back at the castle. Lenster was already there. I had headed straight for our old barracks, which had been converted into a pantry in our absence. There, sitting amongst the vegetables was the familiar gaunt face of my old colleague. When he saw me a wide smile spread across his thin features.

"Let me guess." He said, a sparkle in his bright red eyes. "You caught sight of one Joan of Arc in battle and decided it was time to pull out?" I nodded. "Same here. I have been thinking of myself as a coward for the past three weeks. Now I feel much better about myself."

I couldn't help myself but laugh. It was strange, but I had not liked this man in the slightest when we had parted, but now we were reunited I felt happy to see him. We talked all through the night and the following day, exchanging war stories. He told me I should check in with the Captain and so I did. The captain looked at my bedraggled form, my old trusty bow and my second hand armour and told me he would set me up with some new equipment. Then I was sent to rest.

After fifteen years of hunting and resting we were greeted with another friendly face. Smith had made it and also decided to return here. He told us he had witnessed the capture and burning of Joan of Arc. Soon after that the gods had turned their backs on the English, with every possible calamity costing the war.

Soon afterwards, Menteith appeared and it was as if the war had never even taken place. Our tenure within the castle seemed somewhat more strained because of the way the military had been moving away from knights and using soldiers more often, but we were able to adapt and show that we would be of long term use to our lord. Menteith spent less time with us than ever before though, most of the time being away visiting the King in London.

Then, in 1454 we were informed that the war was over. Many of our fellow soldiers from the house of Warwick had already returned, with the last few units making their way back gradually, but imagine my happiness when a large red beard appeared in our doorway. Williams was back. The burly great scot gripped each of our hands and there was a great deal of joviality. His stories were entertaining, as they always had been, and we felt complete again, as a family.

To celebrate we took to the town at night and joined the soldiers in their celebrations of being alive. The country itself was not so pleased with the defeat, but for us that mattered little. One such evening I was drinking with a group of bowmen, laughing as I drank as much as I wanted to no effect while they became more intoxicated by the hour. A group of local girls appeared in the tavern and began to pair up with the men. I looked across the room to see a blonde girl with bright blue eyes. I could smell her over the din of other scents in the room and I was smitten. I had to have her. Lucky for me, being a vampire made me much more attractive than I was in my mortal life, and I had not been shy with the ladies back then, so to speak. She willingly took me to her home, a room she shared with two sisters who were still in the tavern. Then things became somewhat hazy for me.

I remember us becoming very passionate, and I remember us being naked and falling onto her bed, but then her adrenaline filled me, mixed with her incredible scent and I was lost. The next thing I knew I was kneeling in a pool of blood and her body was literally torn in two, right down the middle. I knew this could cause an issue because she was local to the castle, so I did everything I could to cover it up. It was somewhat worrying though. The first time I tried to have sex in my current state, and it really did not end well.

Fortunately for me the country was my ally. In the following months and years disputes reigned and the people became restless. Needless to say the people of Warwick became cautious too, but in a time where the soldier was seen as an unnecessary strain on the land we became more isolated from the normal people. Then we were called into action yet again.

A further generation had passed at the castle, and my night of frenzy was long forgotten. It was 1461 and we had followed the Duke of Warwick and the King into a number of minor skirmishes. Then we were called North to the battle of Towton. Edward IV and his forces arrived on a snowy morning to find themselves disastrously outmanned. The cold did not help the moral, and the frozen ground was soon reduced to an icy mush in the melee. Over fifty thousand men were involved, and four vampires. Menteith had yet again sidestepped the fight.

There was a stage when I thought we must lose. Ever since the incident with the girl I had been suppressing my lust for violence when the adrenaline filled the air, and here I was trying to fight and subdue my fury. When I saw several Lancastrians take down Williams I let go of my anger and released the beast within. The next thing I knew I was standing in a pool of blood, bodies strewn about me. Williams extended a hand for me to pull him up. "Ah best nae tell yer aboot all the times ahve cheated at cards in the barracks!" He said with a wide grin.

From that point the battle turned in our favour, and Williams and I carved our way through the enemy with vigour. Lenster sent his modified trebuchet into action and Smith ploughed into the men like they were a field of wheat. Walking away from that battle was one of the more satisfactory things I had done, and our feeling of togetherness only grew.

The Duke of Warwick was known as the kingmaker, and we dutifully followed wherever he lead us, but he was doomed. The king was changing, his mental state in question, and the Duke decided he would work to put a new king on the throne. However, this did not end especially well for the Duke. The four of us were in Barnet in 1471 when he was killed in battle. This left us unsure of what to do next. We had moved off into the woods to discuss our future.

"Well." Said Smith, trying his best to keep his voice low. "What now? Our master lies dead and we will surely will be claimed by the crown now. Absorbed into another army."

"This is bad." Lenster was shaking. "I don't know how we should proceed now. All my life I have been loyal to the crown. Since we turned against the King nothing has gone our way."

"Aye but thares nae chance we can survive in the kings army." Williams shook his beard, droplets of mud flying to and fro.

"He's right Lenster." I chipped in. "If we follow the king we will be expected to join ranks with his men. Warwick is all but lost to us now, but without our living arrangement I feel that we would be easily picked out. Especially living in barracks."

"But we were ok in France." Lenster was desperate.

"That was France." I kept my voice calm and level. "Things were more lenient there. Here we would be more regimented. It would be impossible to hide our nature."

"Then what?" Asked Smith.

"We set up as mercenaries." Was the reply from Williams.

And so that is what we decided to do. We sold our services as an elite group to the highest bidder. This brought us several bags of money, and we also saw a lot of action, but most importantly we could control our actions. For the first time we were free to go where we wanted, and as the war raged on we became a desired element for both sides, not only in battle but also for missions of protection and assassination, but I will get to that shortly.

We had been involved in another bloody battle and were leaving the scene unscathed, as usual, when out of the mist rode a knight. When he raised his visor we saw it was Menteith, his face grim.

"Chaps, I hear you have gone rouge and are now soldiers of fortune." We all nodded like scalded children. "This is a poor choice. Join me. I have changed my name to Lambert and will be able to get you unquestionable power." But the four of us sensed the emptiness and desperation in his voice. He had become too involved with the war at the highest level and obviously fancied himself as king. We each turned our backs on him and walked away. "I will show no mercy the next time we meet." He yelled.

In 1483 we were contracted by the house of Lancaster to make a very bold move. It had been noted that King Edward IV was very mentally unstable. So much so that it would be wise to remove him from power. When a pair of regents approached us in London with a large bag of gold we really had no choice.

The assassination was almost the perfect plan. We had decided that instead of killing the king we would turn him into one of us, so we infected one of my arrows with Smith's venom and I placed a perfect shot through his window and into his arm. For a day we watched, expecting the change to take place, but then he fell to the ground and never moved again. Lambert discovered the arrow and found us the following night. This time there were no words, just action. He came at me first, but Williams and Smith used their strength to stop him. He went after Lenster but I halted his charge with one of my arrows. When he saw Williams approach with a flaming torch he decided he should retreat and was gone into the night leaving us cold and sweaty.

That was the point at which we decided to go to ground, and what better place for a master archer and his friends to hide than a large forest in the middle of the country. A forest known as Sherwood.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9 - 1494-1498 Italian war - A bad end to a great time.

We thought we had retired to an easy life of living in the forest, picking off travellers as they happened by our hiding places. We had taken a monk's robe each when we had left Warwick in case we might have to venture out during the day. The other three wore theirs, I never did.

Then one bright July afternoon we wrote ourselves into the books of folklore. We were on a scouting mission at one of the small settlements outside the city of Nottingham. The other three were lurking in the edge of the forest while I walked past the people looking for someone who might want to hire a band of mercenaries. This had become my role as I was able to interact with humans during the day.

As I passed through the villiage centre I heard a commotion so I went to check it out. From my distance of about a hundred feet I could clearly hear the tax collector as he hurled abuse at the peasant. I found this a very unpleasant sight so I fired an arrow straight through his heart. The people were very happy about this, and I suddenly became a focal point of attention, something which I could honestly do without.

In nearly fifteen years I did battle with the constant stream of men sent by the sherif of Nottingham, and the others got in on the act, Smith known for being large, Williams for his red hair and beard, and Lenster never removed his robe. Because we didn't need it we gave any food and gold we took and passed it on to the poor people of the local towns and villages. Don't ask where Robin came from though, because I do not know. I suppose I just wanted to conceal my identity.

The fun came to an end when we met a man in a clearing. Up until this point we had been enjoying our freedom and having a pretty fine time, but now a military man was in our midst. It was just gone dusk, and the sky was dark and brooding. If we didn't like what he had to say then he may be our supper.

"Good sirs, I seek your service in arms. I hear tell that you are men for hire?" We all nodded and I gestured for him to go on. The fame, it seemed, had pushed me into a leadership role. "Very good then. There is a war taking place in Italy right now, and we need you." The four of us looked at each other. "The French are at it again, invading and causing trouble, and we are joining the league of Venice to repel them. What say you? The pay will be good."

I stood to face the man, and extended my hand, which he duly shook. "We shall be in Southampton in four days, ready to depart." I said. We made arrangements and the stranger left us.

"So. It be battle again." Sighed Williams.

"Better than the sham we have operating here." Said Lenster, indignantly.

"Come now." I tried to calm them. "Let us not be pulled part. If we are to function in this setting we shall have to act as a team."

And act as a team we did. We said our goodbyes to the local people and took off to the South cost and the waiting adventure.

Meeting up with the army was interesting. Suddenly all of our joviality was gone, replaced with the professional attitude we had always carried ourselves with. We stayed together as a group, our new tunics made by the people of Nottingham carried a crest with a stag's head. Our armour was dulled and worn, but very well maintained and as good as anything new. The journey was fast and soon we were in Northern Italy. The Commander came to us.

"Well chaps, I can see you must be itching to get out there and kill some French. I need you to go to Tuscany. Reports are coming from there of a new weapon of some kind. Get down there, check it out, and if you can't wipe it out, report back."

Without a word we were off. Williams led us out on horseback until we were remote enough to leave the horses and just run, saving ourselves several days. We arrived in Tuscany and made inquiries. They led us to a small town where a force of a few hundred French men were camped. When we investigated further we saw one of those horrible hand cannons the Chinese mercenaries had used in the Hundred Years War. This was not good. When we went down to check it out, however, things became ugly very quickly.

The camp was by a lake, and the moonlight was reflected in the clear water as we approached. Then a man in white makeup and a wig confronted us. He inhaled deeply.

"You siink zat you are ze only ones who fight la vampire in ze battles eh?" We each looked at one another with an 'oh shit' expression. Two more powdered wigs had appeared along with a cadre of soldiers. This was going to be fun.

Not wasting a second, Smith piled into the nearest wig, going to ground in a flurry of fists. I took a look at the other two while Williams and Lenster did crowd control. However, soon the two had me in some kind of a hold and I was struggling to move, so Williams helped me out, planting his massive boot in the face of one of my attackers. Then Lenster lost control of the crowd of soldiers and there was chaos. French was being shouted everywhere, and the three powdered vampires were matching us with ease. This was not going to end well.

I landed a couple of heavy blows on my opponent, but he countered and I was reeling. Then, out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of smith, engulfed in a crowd, a wigged vampire tearing his head loose from his body. The crowd cheered and his body and head were thrown into the nearby fire. Shit. This was really not going well.

Lenster was gone. Nowhere to be seen and I had a feeling my time was up as the mob moved on me. The attacker had my ears in a strong grip and was pulling. What happened next will always be a blur to me. The flickering glow of fire glinting in the waters, the angry roar of the crowd turning into confusion and fear. A shock of red as Williams somehow managed to escape and make a run for it. A sickening crack and my world was upside down. I could feel my body and it was soaking wet, but my head was dry. I looked around but could not move. I could see black robed figures decimating the crowd, and then my final vision was of a boot. Someone must have run past me and kicked me in the head in their haste to escape. I did a summersault but my body was nowhere to be seen. I was just a head, and then there was a splash and darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10 - 1642-1651 English Civil War - Rebirth

Ok, so you already arrived at the conclusion that I somehow survived that otherwise I wouldn't be telling the story right now. Well, yes, you would be correct. However, you would not imagine the pain and fear of being a disembodied head lost in water. For over a hundred years.

After a time the main enemy for me was boredom. I could occasionally feel my body move or twitch as the fish tried a nibble, but mostly it was still. I had no control over it, and yet I could still feel. And as for my head, well unlucky for me I landed face down, so I was not really in the best of situations. Time began to speed up though. I had not fed for so very long that I was weak and hallucinations crept into my mind. I would be back in the lush greenery of Sherwood, or the wet mud of Scotland. But each time I would see that fight, the boot, and the water would be covering me once more.

I honestly don't know how I managed to survive. Perhaps the water preserved me, or the mud I was stuck in. All I know is that I was down there for a very long time.

Vampires do not sleep. Never. But, when we are as weak as can be, moments from non existence, we begin to lose consciousness. And that was where I found myself. Later I would learn that time had moved the waters and my body had become almost visible on the shore of the lake. Fortunately for me the people of Tuscany had never bothered to go near this lake. Again, later, I would find that this was thanks to rumours of it being cursed. Haunted. If you drew too near than the man of the waters would pull you in and keep you forever. I guess that was a story spread by whatever French remained after the battle. But the main thing is that this piece of folklore prevented any development from taking place near to where I rested.

I was dreaming of the warm dessert sand and the glittering new armour when I felt my body being tugged free of the mud. Strange. A sensation so otherworldly. I was static and the world was black, I could not move a muscle, but my body was in the grip of someone on land.

After a few days of wondering if this was just another dream my question was answered. I felt a hand grip the hair on my head and I was free of my watery tomb. I tried to open my eyes but could not. Tried to speak but my mouth would not respond. Then a finger peeled back my eyelids and starlight flooded into my brain. The first image I saw in over a hundred years was the beautiful face of a girl with red hair. I told myself this was it. I had finally expired. It wasn't as though I hadn't been wishing for it for the longest of times. I was ready, happy to be moving on with my experience.

The next part of my story is sketchy to say the least. I was in and out an awful lot, with strange dreams punctuating hours of grim darkness. I felt warm, fresh blood trickle onto my lips, and somehow, instinctively, my tongue twitched into life, slowly, grating like a rusty hinge, it pulled the blood into my mouth and I swallowed.

I can tell you that over the course of the next thirty years I was moved. I was sure that my head had been reunited with my body because it felt close. And it felt right. Things went black again for a while as I was loaded into a coffin. This was during once of my lucid moments. I was able to see her red eyes and faint freckles on a cold white face, concentrating as she carefully moved me into a box. Then it was darkness again. I could feel bumping and movement all around and this continued for a long time. A couple of weeks perhaps. Then we were at sea. This I knew because I could feel the gentle undulations and taste the familiar taste of salty sea air as it crept through the cracks in my coffin.

The blood continued and with it I felt myself gradually more able to drink it. The ritual seemed to be that she would hold her victim over me and slash the artery in the neck so that I could feed. She would tell me later that the entire crew went into making me stronger. The journey by sea was a long one.

Then we reached land. Whitby in the Northeast of England. Of course I only found this out later, but apparently the arrival of a ghost ship caused quite a stir and would play into legend for many years to come. As would a ghoul and a redhead, but that is another story.

And so there I was. Fed blood for a very long time before I began to stir. At first it was just my fingers. The flesh had knitted back together at my neck and the signals were flowing once more. Strange that I had always been able to feel whatever my body went through, but I learned not to question the mystical science that makes me possible.

I lay there in my box, a stone ceiling my only view except for the times when her face swam in front of me, often holding some poor unfortunate victim for me to drink. She never spoke directly to me, and I had the impression that she chose not to look at me where possible. For many a waking moment in the darkness I questioned her motives but could deliver no satisfactory answer.

Before I could move my arms or legs my vocal chords fired back into life. My head had been totally immobile, my eyes always operating fine, but nothing moved. Then I found my lips moving and my eyes flitting around me. I could see the corners of the room and I could feel a faint whisper pass between my lips. When she brought my next meal to me she saw my mouth moving, a dry hiss the only sound I could produce. She looked surprised but most pleased with herself as she held the neck of the young girl down towards my face. Until now she had always broken the skin for me, but it was incredible to do it for myself. Add to that the pulsating flow of adrenaline which reached my nose for the first time. When the fear drenched blood hit my tongue I felt alive. My arms instinctively wrapped around her and held her until she ceased her struggle. Then I was sitting, the dead girl in my lap, my saviour perched on the edge of my coffin eyeing me with delight.

"And here I thought you might never wake up." She said, her grin spreading warmth through my ice cold body.

"Wh.. Aaa... Yuuuu... " Was all I could muster. My muscles my have suddenly fired into life thanks to the intoxicating drink, but my voice would take a little remastering.

She chuckled. "I, my dear, am Victoria." She saw me shake with the effort of speech. "And you are quite welcome."

"Why?" A full word? Progress. Maybe a sentence next?

"That is a long story. But since neither of us have a place to be, I shall tell it." She giggled, high and girlish. "But first, please tell me your name."

It took a minute but I finally got there. "Castor."

Her bright red eyes went wide. "The Castor? The Archer?" I nodded weakly. "Well, it seems I have dug up a legend." She helped me to sit back in my coffin before she continued.

"My life story is something you do not need to know. Suffice to say it is the kind of tale so tragic that becoming what I am today was something of a blessing. I was happy with my sister and our friends until we were confronted by the Volturi." My eyes went wide in question. "Oh, you don't know them? Italians? Black robes?" At this I nodded. I assumed I knew. "They presume to govern us with their laws. They slaughtered my new family and I was the lone survivor thanks to my ability to hide.

"I spent many years hiding from them until I decided to look into some kind of revenge. I tracked them to Tuscany in Italy and while I was there I heard the tale of the man in the lake. A ghostly figure, a disembodied head and a headless body, that kept guard and would consume anyone he caught swimming in his waters. Uomo del Lago. Catchy, yes? I decided to investigate and finally found someone able to tell me that there had been a great battle there between the French and the English mercenaries. I was staring into the waters trying to decide where to go next when I glimpsed a hand. I pulled out your body and then found your head.

"The idea formed that if I should revive you then perhaps you might help me take my revenge, so I stayed in Tuscany for a long time. Then I decided the Volturi would be too strong for two of us and made plans to come home. I had a cousin in Whitby when I was mortal so this is where I brought you." She settled, the talking was obviously something she was not used to.

"You never spoke to me." I whispered.

"Oh, that. Well I didn't want to become attached in the event that you never revived."

"How did you know... That I would?" I was getting the hang of it.

"I didn't. From what I had heard, if a vampire loses their head then they are finished. I think the water kept you safe somehow."

She left me then, to seek her own next meal. In the next few months I was as strong as I had ever been. My armour was neatly piled in a corner but I dressed in the clothes she gave me. When I was strong enough I told her my story, and was fascinated by the way she hung on my every word. To me it had all been business but to her it was adventure.

We hunted in Whitby and I showed her my ability to pass during the day. I also re trained myself to use the longbow. It turned out to be simple and in no time I was firing it again. However, I was hearing talk of a weapon called a gun. Something about this terrified me as well as intriguing me. The parties where I heard these things were attended my Victoria and I in simple but elegant clothes which we stole. We would attend the party, select a victim and take them home to our small house.

When I was fit enough we decided to move. I buried my old armour, deciding to live as a civilian for the time being. We discussed the best place to go, and I suggested London. It was a fine source of food and we could hide there with ease. It was settled. But nothing could prepare me for a hundred and fifty years of progress in the old city. It was bustling and people were everywhere. All the better for feeding. Of great interest to me was the talk of the new world, something that the people seemed to accept now but to me was just amazing. I had thought we would find India to the West.

Victoria was even more interested in the new world than I was. Even though she was free of her past life and she had a companion in me, she still seemed inclined to run and hide, and the word was that this new world was an endless expanse of places in which to hide.

A year or so passed with us moving from place to place in the city. When we couldn't find a house we would spend the day in the sewers. Not an ideal living arrangement but one that suited our need from time to time. We were above ground in a tavern on the look out for our next meal.

"I hear the fighting is becoming intense in the civil war." I said, casually leaning back on a stool, pretending to drink.

"Why should that interest us?" She snapped. Well, I suppose talk of was must not be something she enjoyed.

"War is what I was bred for. I trained most of my life to fight."

"Then go and fight." She said, staring at me in a strange way.

"What is this attitude?" I asked her, shocked by her sudden anger.

"This attitude is the product of your increasing lust for battle. I see you speaking with anyone with news of battle." Her eyes boiled with intensity. "And don't think I didn't see you with that whore last night." Ah, the crux of the matter. We had been enjoying a very physical relationship, and when we could find lodgings with a bed we would spend most of the daylight hours in there. When you have not had sex in over four hundred years you take as much as you can get. She was still staring, annoyed by my daydreaming.

"I needed the adrenaline. You know it makes the blood sweeter for me." She was not appeased.

"For some time now I have been fearing this day would come." She spoke in a soft voice now, the venom gone. "But to hear you talk of war I see that you will always be a soldier at heart, and I will never truly be loved by you."

I thought for a moment before I spoke. "It its something I have spent a very long time being. To become something else is strange."

"I suggest you go and join this army you speak of." She stood, taking my hand and squeezing. "I have decided to explore the new world." I was silent. I had nothing I could say. This was the best for both of us. We had our own desires. "Perhaps our paths shall cross again." And then she was gone into the night.

I immediately found myself in the employ of Oliver Cromwell in the New Model Army. The battles were furious, a new kind of fighting which I was unprepared for. The most interesting aspect for me was that my bow was suddenly redundant. I was handed a musket and told to fire. The aim was terrible and it took forever to load, so I opted to retain my bow, for a while.

To begin with our forces were routed by the royalists, but soon we took control and began winning the war. It was a war that went on for a long while, but ended prematurely for me. I was in the heat of battle, and the advancing cavalry was throbbing with adrenaline. I was unable to control myself, and the next thing I knew I was standing in a pool of blood, several bodies strewn about me and that godly taste upon my lips. My superior officer was standing there, staring at me. I had killed indiscriminately, taking men from both sides. He raised his flintlock and fired, and then when I remained standing he fled. That was when I decided I had to train myself in the field of self control I returned to London, and with no companion to complain I chose life in the sewers. A life that was mine for a long time. Until I met a man who changed me.


	11. Chapter 11

Part 11 1663 - London, England. Return.

When I say I met a man who changed me, it would be more accurate to say that I changed him. I had been living down in those dank sewers for a long time, feeding on the homeless people who happened my way, or taking rats when I was desperate. I found adrenaline was not something readily available to me in my new, chosen life, but I was beginning to accept that. I was living in the dark like the monster that I was and that was OK. I didn't deserve the thrill of battle or the adventure of war. I had thought of myself more than a man for the longest of times, but now I was a being out of time. Out of touch with the modern person and I found the easiest way to deal with this was to simply wallow in my own self pity.

It had been a warm day and I was becoming tired of the walls of my tomb. The constant drip of water was making me insane, so I decided to hunt above ground for a change. It had been so long since I had even made myself feed that I was not at my full strength, and the situation was most likely accentuated by my recent revival from my near extinct state.

The night was still. I breathed in and was assaulted by my own stench. Living in the sewer did nothing for ones personal hygiene. Over my own reek I could smell that familiar twang of human blood. This one was very sweet smelling, and close. I had come up in an alley so I decided I should go and try to find this human. There was also a shot of fear mixed into their odour. This could serve me well. If they were already afraid then seeing me should heighten their fear, sending that delicious adrenal gland into overtime, which meant a party for me. I was like the opium addicts upon whom I feasted.

It was a man, giving off the scent. A blonde haired man who was very handsome. Not that this mattered to me. He was going to taste great, that much I knew. I perched myself on a window ledge and waited for him, listening to his heart thud in his chest. He thought someone was following him, and he was right, of course, but he was unaware of my presence. When I dropped in front of him he did not scream. Instead he stared at me with wide eyes. In a flash he turned and sprinted back the way he had come. The odour was now like fire in my brain. I had to feast.

I darted after him and was on him quickly. I sank my teeth into his flesh and tasted the metallic twang so dear to me. Then I was on the ground. Something had hit me over the head. Something large and metal. I could hear footsteps as my quarry escaped, fleeing for his life unaware of the poison in his veins that would soon make him one of us. That thought was of little consolation to me though. I wanted all of his blood, and now that I had a taste I wanted it more than anything. But the question was, why was I on my back?

Then I saw a hand extending towards me. I took it and levered myself up, taking note that the hand was as icy cold as mine. Then I broke into a wide smile. The face attached to that hand was familiar. A big red beard and red curls flowing from his head, chiselled features red as they always were (or at least as red as any of our kind could be.) he was dressed well, looking at me with amusement playing in his red eyes. The guy was a mass of red.

"Castor!" He heaved with a laugh, "Wha tha fuck is tha smell laddie?"

"Williams, is that really you or have I gone mad?"

"Does it feel like me?" He asked, thumping my shoulder nearly putting me on my arse.

"Oh it's you alright!" Now I was laughing. "But why did you stop me killing that guy?"

"I didne. It wa some other chappie. He blind sided ye. Not that ye woulde noticed, the way ye was after the poor fella." Always so full of expression.

"What?" I asked, full of confusion.

"I had been followin yer prey lad. He was mah supper, and ye beat me to it. But someone else had been followin him too, and thats who hit ye. i saw it all. He came round the corner and smacked you over the head with a shovel. The kid didn't need a second chance mind you, he was off like a ferret."

"And the attacker?"

"Ran off in the other direction. No idea what he was all about. Londons full o wierdos lad." And with that he laid a hand across my shoulders and led me down the street. "Lets get you home. Get ye inta some decent clothes before I gag! Have ye been livin in the sewer?" I nodded. "Lets sort that out then eh?"

As I walked I could feel the blood of my escaped victim tickle my nerves. This had been a special one and it had gotten away. The feeling it gave me was different too. Suddenly I felt stronger, more confident. This stranger had done more for me than he would ever know, and he would get to live. In a fashion.

Williams was living in a nice town house in the city. He had a few nice things and explained that he had accumulated them through his war efforts. He had remained in the service of the kings and lords as a mercenary and the money he had earned had served him well. In the weeks that followed he helped me to clean myself up, dress properly and feed. Then he offered me a partnership.

"Together we can take care o any mission. Fight with me. I'll cut ye fifty fifty."

"I fear for myself in battle. The last time it ended badly."

"Ye was oot of practice. Anyway I can help train ye, get ye back on yous feet."

There was no arguing with him. I followed his lead and let him train me in the ways of modern battle. He taught me self control all over again, and he taught me how to live in his world. It was a world of rich men. He had amassed a great sum of money during the hundred or so years since I had seen him last and he seemed to be enjoying the lifestyle. One afternoon we were in the townhouse chatting while I practiced my self restraint.

"So what happened, after I lost my head?" I asked, having told Williams what I had been doing for all this time.

"Ah ran as fast as ah could. Next thing ah knew ah was in Germany. Smith went down just before ye did, and ah saw Lenster flee. Tha was the last ah saw of him though. No doubt he'll re surface sooner or later."

"So you just returned to the military?" I asked, trying to ignore the whimpers in the corner of the room.

"Aye pretty much. When ah got back te London ah found an army to join. It wasne up to much, but ah helped then win a battle and the lord paid me well. From there ah worked hard to improve mah name and now its pretty much the first anyone calls when they need a rouge to win them a war." He sounded very pleased with himself.

"And Lambert, or whatever he calls himself now?"

"Not a peep. I've no doubt he'll turn up eventually but I suppose he's working on a lord or duke somewhere."

All this talking was making me hungry and Williams could obviously see it. He picked up the axe he had laid on the table and walked slowly towards the corner of the room where the young man was securely chained. Upon seeing the monster advance with an axe he started to panic and I fought back my primal urge. The first attempts at this had ended badly, and many more had ended in fights between my mentor and I, but now I was learning to control myself and I remained seated, looking on calmly as my friend advanced on his victim. The final scream, as always, was the hardest to resist but resist I did.

It was time to get back on the horse. The horse of war.


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12 1700-1721 Northern, Eastern & Central Europe - great northern war

It was, of course, many years before my next taste of real war. In the forty years that passed I trained hard, worked very hard at overcoming my urges and took whatever missions I could get. Oh and I explored the city in which I live.

London was evolving into a thriving centre of the country, if not Europe. I was never one to enjoy the company of the nobility however, so I preferred to keep myself in tune with the lower classes. Oddly this was a division that was becoming ever clearer following the civil war. There was still a long way to go, but it was plain to see that the social structure of our country would never be the same again.

Williams was quite the opposite of me when it came to socialising, and he often tried to talk me into attending his parties, but I would rather be in the dockland taverns speaking with the pirates of the day, listening to their tales of the high seas.

The other thing that was evolving was the army. Where once all armed men would work for their local lord and their base of operations would be his castle, now the national army was beginning to take shape. It was apparent that the need for the modern soldier was changing. When I was changed, a soldier would be required to ride and to master his weapon, be that the sword or the bow, but now we had firearms that was becoming a thing of the past. The flintlock musket had a bayonet fitted which even rendered the pikeman obsolete. And best of all, mastery of the gun did not take a lifetime, but in most cases a few short months. Accuracy was low, but numbers were high so battles would consist of mass groups firing upon one another until one side was routed.

I kept my bow and quiver while also opting to carry a musket for myself, despite barley using it. The longbow was much more accurate over long distance and my eye sight allowed me to make shots no mortal could, be it with a bow or a gun.

In the few battle outings I was involved in before the Northern war I generally served alongside the English army. It was fascinating to watch this organisation form and begin to take shape. The local lords were unimpressed but there was little that they could do. The battle of the Boyne was one such outing, the English had contracted Williams and I to assist and that is what we did. Williams acted as a horseman, helping the troops to keep their animals under control and leading a division of modern day horseback knights. I was attached to scouting parties. Generally I would act as a security detail for the scouts, picking off any would be ambushers. Occasionally I was given something more taxing like the long range assassination of a high ranking enemy but we will get to that shortly.

Ireland was a difficult place to fight as the locals were so very stubborn, and the conditions were not ideal, but I would soon learn there were even worse places to fight.

When I first entered into the great Northern war it was the summertime. I was operating as a mercenary for the coalition against the Swedish, and I thought it was marvellous. The weather in Northern Europe in the summer can be quite pleasant, and the battles were nothing like those against the Irish and Scots. There I had been fighting desperate, passionate men, here I was fighting organised professionals. I was also fighting alongside professionals who were just as organised. The battles were cleaner and the missions more surgical. I was making a name for myself as an expert marksman and scouting parties clamoured for my escort.

Then the winter came. I had never experienced anything like it, and I had been around for a very long time. First came the sweeping rain and the driving wind. I have said it before, but despite vampires being impervious to the cold I still find it unpleasant. And please do not get me started on how much I hate being wet, or even just damp. Soon the temperatures began to dip and frost covered the ground. The men I was marching with began to complain loudly, but fortunately for me it was mostly in Russian or Saxon. The problems became more pressing when the snow started to fall and hypothermia and frostbite were the enemy. By now I had been given a platoon to lead and I was working my way towards another long and gruelling battle. The food was running low and men were starting to fall one by one. My objective was to use my men and take an enemy encampment at Poltava. When I arrived it was with a team of only four humans.

I had decided we would do what we could, so I set the four of them in strategic positions about the city and took off by myself into the woods. From here I spent the day in the treetops, scouting the enemy and making my choices before the fall of night. When it was dark I went to work, firing bolts into the heads of the most high ranking personnel I could see. When the panic started and the enemy began to run out of their walls my men fired upon them, causing greater hysteria. I was moving all around and taking shots too, trying to give the impression of a larger force which apparently worked because when the infantry of our army arrived at dawn the enemy had already come out to surrender. I was proud that those four humans lived to tell the tale, and I received my most treasured commendation to date from the Tsar of Russia.

As for the rest of the war, let's just say I spent most of it trying to keep warm and was never more happy to return home to a comfortable house and a burning log fire, my friend happily handing out the celebratory whiskey.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry I'm a day late, was quite ill last night. Anyway thanks for reading. Would love some feedback.**

Part 13 - 1757-1763 South India - 3rd Carnatic war

The early part of the 18th century was when things really began to take shape in the form of the nation of Great Britain and her standing army. For most of a century the ruler had been the joint king of England and Scotland, but the countries were entirely separate. The king had put together an army made up from the remnants of both sides of the civil war, and these were being deployed in various battles around Europe, but the big change came in May of 1707 when the act of union was signed, effectively creating the single nation of Great Britain, and swallowing up England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. I remember being in London at the time of the signing as I was on leave for a month from the war in Sweden. There was a feeling of hope amongst the common people, a feeling that perhaps we were heading towards a golden age.

Williams had his suspicions, claiming that the English had finally won the war with his Scots, except it had been done through political manoeuvring rather than force. This made him depressed, and because of that I was glad to get back into the action on the continent.

Soon the news reached me from home that the armies of England and Scotland would be amalgamated, and the Army of Great Britain would be formed. I did not spend much time thinking about this as I was greatly pre occupied with the battlefield, and the small group of men at my command who were becoming somewhat unsettled thanks to poor conditions and supplies.

When I returned home in 1710 I left behind a war that would continue still for many years, but I had become disillusioned with the whole affair. Being a mercenary seemed to be a good plan in theory, but in practice it was not so straightforward. I was fighting alongside other mercenaries, many of who, were criminals in some way. They seemed to take great pleasure in the brutal deaths they imparted upon their fellow man, and I felt sure that they would turn on their fellows upon a whim. The regular soldiers I served with seemed to regard us as outsiders, and because of this it was difficult to form bonds in camp or even during operations.

The home I returned to seemed different somehow, as Williams was falling into a pit of despair thanks to the union of nations. I tried to speak with him but the butler, Howard, a gaunt man who had served for many years, told me he rarely came out of his chamber, instead preferring to request prostitutes be sent to him. Howard would then dispose of the bodies. It was helpful that the butler was a human who did not care about anything other than a paycheque, as without him Williams would be in great difficulty.

For three months I stayed in the house but the feeling of doom was oppressive. I spent more and more time outside roaming the streets of the city until one day I came across a man in a uniform with a red coat. He had a rifle which was much more advanced than mine, and he looked like he could take care of himself so I decided to speak with him. I followed him into a tavern and sat next to him.

"Good day sir." He said, sipping from his tankard.

"And to you." I replied. "I see you are a soldier, what regiment are you?"

"Grenadiers sir. I use my rifle where possible."

"And where did you join up?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Press gang sir. They took all of the men from my villiage."

This was going to be more difficult than I hoped, but I persevered. "If a man were to want to enlist, where could he do it?" I asked cautiously.

"There is an office in Soho sir. Try that." And with that he turned his body away from me and concentrated on his ale.

The next day I found the office in Soho and signed up. I told the recruiter that I could operate a long distance weapon and that I had fought in the Baltics. He seemed skeptical but I was able to tell him some of the places I had been and he was soon very interested. I explained that I craved the life amongst the men, that I was not cut out to be an officer, and he said that would be fine. I was given instructions to attend basic training and I returned home. Not wanting to waste any time I left a short note with Howard and collected my possessions. Any that I knew I would be unable to keep I buried in Hyde park and made a mental note of their whereabouts. One day someone was going to dig up my various suits of armour scattered throughout the country.

Life in the army was a new challenge for me, but after the strange time I had endured through the previous decade I felt in need of a change, and boy did I get it. The training was strict and brutal, with the bond forming amongst my unit thanks to the conditions we were in. If any one of us made a miss step, then the entire group would pay, often being made to go without food or run extra distances. Occasionally the punishment was more severe and ended in a beating for the culprit, but collectively we tried to keep that to a minimum. I found myself popular because I was always willing to give up my food. It was a time when nobody questioned why the never saw me eat or drink, but simply thanked me for the extra. My food came off barracks, in the nearby town. Picking off my prey was always easy as there were lots of prostitutes near to the camp, earning their living from the soldiers.

My prior training with the old adrenaline problem helped me a great deal. It turned out that these girls seldom enjoyed the idea of being murdered, so I was put to the test often, but I was always able to withstand the need to tear into a frenzy.

When our group was classified as fully trained we entered into the Royal Grenadiers, and were immediately shipped off to India to fight with the French. In all my years I have struggled to understand why men still go to war for their country. It was different for me, I had an advantage, but the mortal man stepping into a situation where his survival could be classed as fifty fifty, that does not sound sensible. And often for such trivial matters. Fighting over which area of India is controlled by who. A country thousands of miles away from our island.

The trip to India was long. We set sail with the Royal Navy from Southampton having had our fill of the local nightlife (I knew I wouldn't be eating for a while so I made sure I was satisfied before leaving port.) And sailed around the cape of good hope at the Southern end of Africa. The sea was often wild and unpredictable and many a man was lost to illness or calamity.

Things did not exactly get better once we were back on land. The humidity was unbearable, even for me. The locals eyed us cautiously and the French fought us well. I had been given a new rifle which had a longer range, and during battle I would lead a small group of men to a vantage point where we could take shots at the enemy. The inaccuracy of the rifle was irksome and I wished for my bow, but it would not be allowed so I struggled on.

After two years of fighting in India an incident struck which ensured I would not be able to continue. I had somehow kept my secret from my fellows, but I had a growing feeling that there was a suspicion. Then I was shot in battle. I was blind sided and the musket blast knocked me on my back. Several of my unit were there to see it, and I knew it was something no living man could survive, so I stayed down while they fled. Once they were out of visual range I sat up, causing a commotion amongst the enemy. Then I unleashed the beast, feeding on their fear and converting it into frenzy I decimated a platoon. Their blood fuelled my walk back to England. A walk that would take some years.


	14. Chapter 14

Part 14 - new world 1775-1783 Eastern USA - american revolutionary War Part I

As you are no doubt aware, the walk from India to Europe is by no means a short one. I was determined to take my time to begin with, making sure I did not run into fellow soldiers who might question my uniform and the way it hung in tatters where the gunshot had shredded the material. They could also be curious as to the lack of any wound beneath that gaping hole. Did I kill a soldier and steal his clothing, they might think. Or possibly did I take it from a battlefield cadaver.

It was a conversation I was keen to avoid, so I kept to the countryside, travelling by night. A natural way of life for my kind, yes, not so much a necessity for myself until now.

Soon I found myself clear of the subcontinent, moving through the mountains in the North West and into the rocky scrub of Afghanistan. The area was relatively devoid of life, so I found it very easy to keep to myself. I decided that travelling through this land as a British soldier may not be the best way not to draw attention, so I killed a farmer and stole his robes. Under them I was able to hide my rifle, a weapon I intended to hang on to despite the fact that it had done nothing to help me thus far.

The countryside flew past in a blur of grey as I sped along by night, the endless sea of browns stretching before me during the day. The landscape remained much the same as I passed through Iran, finding the Euphrates river to help guide me along my way. This took me through the country of Iraq and yet more desert scrubland. My attire was doing its job in allowing me to blend into the area and pass by unnoticed, and I avoided any human contact unless I was feeling somewhat hungry. There were lonely farmers who provided as quick meal, and even a bedouin encampment which I eliminated in a few short moments, quickly stifling the screams of the women and children. Yes, I was a monster, but I was merely doing what I had to, giving myself the energy I needed to keep moving.

It was another bright sunny day, and I was sitting on a hillside looking down on a town nestled by the water. I had chosen to spend the day here as the sun had begun to brighten the sky, and now I could see it was going to be a great place to spend the day. What I had assumed was the river in the dawn light was actually much larger. The coast. I had been here before, many, many years previously, but the area looked much the same as it had then. Apparently that left turn I had taken away from the river had taken me much further east than I had expected, straight though Syria.

So my next challenge would be getting myself onto a boat. I wasted no time in moving into town and approaching the marina. There were all kinds of merchant vessels, and I managed to talk my way onto one, trading my rifle for passage to the Italian coast.

The voyage was uneventful. I was able to control myself and didn't eat any of the crew. It can be a poor choice when on a boat, since the crew will panic when the odd member disappears.

Quickly I moved though Italy, noticing with a little concern that I was in Tuscany. This was the region in which I lost my head, and I had no desire to linger, but some deep down part of me was drawn to a small villiage on a hillside. I arrived during the day and sat in the town square for a while gathering my thoughts. I was sure I had been beheaded only a few miles from here. I wanted more than anything to move on and put this pace behind me but something kept me from moving. The sun passed overhead and sank below the horizon, casting long crooked shadows all around me. I barely noticed the crowds of locals die down and was surprised to find myself alone, sitting on the fountain. Then I noticed them. Three hooded figures, black robes trailing to the ground. They seemed to glide towards me.

"Hello." I spoke quietly but I knew they could hear me. I could smell them from the moment they entered the square. They did not smell human.

"Good evening sir." Spoke the one in the middle. His voice was soft, and somehow familiar. Where had I heard this voice before? "What is your business here?"

"In truth, I do not know." I replied. Then I realised how I was dressed, still in the old farmers robes, once white, now a dusty brown. "I was passing through on my way from the subcontinent when I felt compelled to detour in this direction. The town seems to have a pull."

The man in the middle chuckled softly, his companions remaining silent. I couldn't make out their faces as they kept their hoods up. "Well, you wouldn't be the first to be drawn to us, but tell me this, have we met? You seem awfully familiar." His lilting voice carried gently on the warm breeze.

"In truth, I do not know, but I feel the same way." I was scouring my memory to place the voice until he pulled back his hood and all was clear to me. The round face, the black hair, and the eyes like moons. Yes, this was the man I had seen all those years ago in Warwick, when I had first become a vampire.

He approached me, his hand outstretched. "Please, allow me." He said softly, but I got the feeling that it was not a request, and his flankers loomed ominously behind him as he lay his hand upon mine gently. His eyes went wide as if he were watching something in the distance, and then he stepped back. "Maybe it would be best if you would come with us." He said, and they turned, gliding away. I stood and followed them.

They led me to an unassuming building where I followed them into the darkness. We descended several flights of stone steps, my eyes easily cutting through the inky blackness that would have rendered a human blind. Presently we emerged into a chamber, dimly lit with sconces on the walls. The floor was marble and I could see three large chairs almost set like thrones in an old fashioned court. I could also feel many eyes upon me, and sense a shifting in the dark alcoves of the room, but I followed instruction to stand in the centre of the room as the leader placed himself gently into the centre chair.

"Dear friends, I would like you all to meet Castor." He spoke softly but the sound carried across the room with ease. "He is unaware of us. Or I should say he was, until now."

I looked around hoping to gain some clue as to what was happening but my military background and discipline kicked in and I remained emotionless in the middle of the room.

"Do you have any questions?" Wheezed the figure to the right of the leader. He was older, and had a kind of disappointed, unsatisfied look about him.

"Who are you?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.

"My name is Aro, and these are Marcus and my brother Caius. Collectively we are known as the Volturi." Aro smirked a little as he said this.

"And what is the Volturi?" I asked patiently.

"We are a group of vampires who work to keep our secret throughout the world. We help those who abide by the rules and we punish those who do not." He paused for effect. "Think of us as your government."

There was an awful lot of shuffling in those dark alcoves. It was making me slightly nervous but I was determined not to show it. I had been grilled by officers much more intimidating. "And what do you want with me?" I kept my voice even and strong.

"You are an interesting one." Aro sat back on his 'throne' casually. The other two were still slightly on edge. "Are you aware that almost every vampire is blessed with a gift?" I nodded almost imperceptibly. "Well mine is to see the memories of all those I touch, and I saw you have had quite a few adventures in your life, but the interesting part is your gift." I remained still. I did not want this man to feel that he had the edge on me. Treat him like an officer. Remain silent. Give nothing away. "For the benefit of those gathered, Mister Castor, would you please tell them what your gift is?" His voice was soothing, but in an unsettling kind of way.

"I have the ability to walk in the sunlight without giving myself away." I spoke clearly and decisively. A ripple of murmur passed around the room.

Aro slowly clapped. "A most spectacular gift indeed. And I have seen your battles. You have fought well for King and country." The room was silent again, waiting. "And so I would like to offer you a position in my guard." He gave nothing more away and a choking silence fell for a few seconds before Caius stood.

"What say you?" He said loudly and impatiently, like a spoilt child.

"While your offer is a great honour to me." I spoke with a calm voice. "I must decline." A feeling of disappointment began to grow. And one of impeding danger. The crowd was not pleased. "My duty is to my country. This is my mindset and I am afraid it cannot change."

The crowd now inched forward out of the shadows, black robes encircling me. Aro stood again and raised his arms. "Very well." He was still relaxed, a wide smile splitting his face. "You may return to your service." The crowd was hushed again, and now they stopped dead. "But remember this. The offer will stand as long as the Volturi exist. But should you do anything to jeopardise our secret then the most severe punishment shall be dealt." I stared back, emotionless. No fear.

"Understood." I spoke.

"Then it is with great disappointment that we bid you farewell and hope to meet again soon." His words were sincere, and the crowed edged apart to form a passage. I turned and walked through the opening, and kept waking until I reached the English channel.

As I signed up to re-join the army, this time as William Castor II, the final words of Aro rang in my ears. "Remember the rules. Don't give us cause to hunt you." Words that followed me to the docks and onto the ship that would take me to the new world colonies where a major war was brewing.


	15. Chapter 15

Part 15 - new world 1775-1783 Eastern USA - american revolutionary War Part II

Soil rained down on me from all directions tinged with the scent of fresh blood. The concussive blasts ripped through the air and shook the ground with a force capable of sending men flying. My platoon had walked right into an ambush and we were not coping overly well.

Our journey through the war had been a relatively quiet one. We had spent time in Philadelphia where the colonists were all too anxious to show their displeasure towards us. In honesty that was a town I was very happy to get out of. As we travelled south we only encountered a few hostile situations, and finally we thought we were able to relax as we passed through Virginia, but my old friends the French were here to make sure that didn't happen as they routed us with cannon fire.

My men split and ran in several directions with the long range riflemen of the French picking them off as they ran clear of the battlefield. I found myself standing in the centre of the mêlée unable to move for the feeling of helplessness and the instinct to feed held me bound to the spot as yet another blast hit close enough to have killed me if I were a real man. And that's when I remembered what I truly was and woke up.

In a flash I was out of the action and running around the rear of the enemy, trying to locate their gunners in my haste. There, peering over a ridge were around twenty men with rifles, and another thirty more behind them to re-load for them. The first one I reached fell to the ground as I twisted his head to an impossible angle, the crack ringing out above the distant sound of cannon fire. Two ran at me with bayonets, their feathered hats flapping in the wind. In the blink of an eye they were on the ground throats slit with their own blades, writhing in agony. I looked up as several more approached with caution. This was when I let the beast loose. Until now the gunners had been preoccupied with the battle but now they were turned, yelling in French, trying to level their weapons at me, but I was too fast. I had a bayonet in one hand and nothing in the other, but that did not prevent me from cutting a swath through these highly trained soldiers. Occasionally I would pull one close so that I could tear out his throat with my teeth, creating a double effect in that I would get my shot of adrenaline soaked blood and the enemy would see a demented madman covered in the blood of their brothers.

I honestly could not tell you how long the fight lasted. To me it felt like an eternity and a blink all at once, but when it was over there was one person standing and that was me.

Without hesitation I knelt and picked up one of the fallen rifles and lifted it to my eye. The sight was clear and simple, and I could see a good distance ahead of me, as far as the cannons on the ridge some two hundred yards away. Perfect. I assumed the prone position I had seen the French using, levelled the rifle and squeezed off a couple of shots. Through my sites I could see confusion as one of the gunners fell to the ground. Perfect. I lay down a covering fire to allow what remained of my platoon to escape the kill zone. Once they were all clear I scooped up as many guns as I could carry and rushed off to join them. As I retreated I could hear the French voices approaching. I had to get out of there before a greater number arrived to cause me problems.

I met with my men in the woods near the battlefield and ushered them away from the approaching Frenchmen. Once we were in the clear and I could no longer hear our enemy I called the men to make camp and asked them to to gather around. I passed out the guns I had found keeping one for myself and listened to the excited murmur of the men. They ran their fingers over the cold steel and held the stocks to their shoulders to peer through the sights, checking their aim. This weapon was entirely new to us, and it explained how the other side had gained an advantage over us in recent battles. We had to return these to England so that we could manufacture our own, but for now all I could think of was survival. Not my own, of course, that was never a doubt, but the survival of my men was paramount to me at this point. Having lost so many in the ambush I was determined to return to the battalion with as many soldiers as possible. Frankly, returning on my own to explain how I had lost an entire platoon was becoming rather tiresome.

A distant crack alerted me to a presence. The French were coming. I could hear their deep voices and the faint waft of smoke preceding them. I quickly ordered my men to climb the trees that surrounded us. The coverage was thick and the trees were not difficult to climb. We did not have enough rifles for all of us, so I kept one and set up those without as watchmen on the perimeter of our area. I knew our ammo was limited, however, so I instructed them to only fire when they were sure of their shot.

Soon enough the dark blue of their uniforms swam into view, and the watchmen gave out the hand signal. I had the leader in my sights from the first moment I saw him, a tall, arrogant looking man who was not taking the time to check his path. This was going to be just desserts.

The first shot rang out and silenced their voices, then it was followed by a series of cracks. I took my shot, taking off the head of the nearby leader, and then hit as many other targets as I could. By the time we were out of ammo there was a pile of bodies and the sound of undergrowth being crashed through as evidence of our actions.

The men chatted eagerly as we returned to base, and when we handed over the weapons our commander seemed very pleased. However, he did not reward our efforts with time at the rear, instead sending us off to join another group of men heading for battle with the Spaniards.

As we travelled further south the weather became warm and muggy. Often we would be marching when a storm would break over our heads leaving us soaked, only to immediately clear and be replaced by relentless sunshine. At the height of midday I would try and cover up as best as I could, not wanting to let my true nature be revealed to the men.

Soon enough we were in yet another battle situation. This one was far more dire than the battle with the French, as the Spanish blindsided us and quickly had us on the run, forced towards the Atlantic coast. Cannon fire rained down on us and the bodies of my men flew through the air in what was becoming an all too familiar sight. War was changing, and it was somehow more dangerous than ever. The close combat was being replaced with explosives and this concerned me.

Another blast kicked up a tonne of dirt, shaking me from my reverie. They were advancing on us now, rifles raised and moving in for the kill. My platoon of two hundred had been reduced to a dozen and I stood in front of them, catching sight of the advancing men.

Then I was gone, running into the crowd. I felt a blast of shot hit my shoulder tearing my uniform to ribbons, but that was soon forgotten as I turned into the whirlwind of death, trying to save the life of my men. As was my style, I tore them apart, sometimes as many as three at a time, moving so fast I was a blur. It didn't take me long to reduce their number to a few hundred retreating men, and I turned to find my own survivors, shocked to see them all lying dead at the feet of a beautiful redhead.

"Fair's fair..." She said, smiling. I approached her slowly, noticing that like me she was drenched in blood. We adopted fighting stances as I drew closer, and then when I was close enough to see every detail of her face I took it in my hands and kissed her deeply.


	16. Chapter 16

Part 16 -1793-1802 France - french revolution

We made love there on the battlefield amongst the fallen, the fight long over. It was frantic and passionate, and I had the feeling that Victoria had probably had the same amount of intimate contact as I had since we last saw one another.

She took me to the small house where she lived. It was on the edge of a cotton picking colony and she told me it was very quiet out there. The building had been abandoned and the people living nearby had said it was haunted. This suited her fine, as it provided a secluded place to live that was a serviceable house.

Needless to say we immediately set about christening every room in the house, as our passion turned into something of a path of destruction through the house, and at one point a was. Was demolished.

I couldn't tell you what it was about her that drew me in, perhaps it was her beauty but more likely it was the fact that I still felt I owed her my very existence. She was quiet and we didn't speak much in between our romps. I managed to learn that she had travelled here and settled almost straight away, finding the natives made a great food source for her. She had taken up with the Spanish because they had been around in her colony for some time. Following them lead to battles, and battles lead to bodies.

Our camp was not far from the house, so I was spending time with her at night, including hunting, and training with the men during the day, now that a fresh squad had been sent to meet me. I wasn't truly sure what we were doing, staying in one place for so long, but it meant I could indulge myself, so I took advantage.

One night Victoria and I were sitting in the drawing room, quite content for the time being, having fed off a burly colonist soldier and spent a few hours making love. There was a gentle knock at the door and we eyed each other suspiciously. Had she finally grown bored of my company and called the Spaniards or French?

"Expecting someone?" I asked, as innocently as possible as I stood.

"Not I dear. How about you?" She made no move to follow.

"I am not. Let us see who calls at this hour."

I opened the door to see a lone man in a dishevelled colonist uniform. He was tall and gangly with long hair pulled back into a pony tail much like most of the men in his army. I was immediately defensive. I was in my long johns, and my red uniform was out of sight, but still I felt uneasy at this visitor. Then there was the matter of his eyes and his scent. This was most definitely one of our kind.

"May I help you?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

"Good sir, I would be grateful if you could offer me safe harbour for the day." He sounded a little shaken but not timid.

"Just you?" I asked and he nodded as I surveyed the area. He seemed to be telling the truth so I allowed him entry. As he walked down the corridor he found Victoria, leaning in the doorway to the sitting room in only my dress shirt. If it was not obvious who I was before, then he must surely know by now, but he made no reaction, simply greeting her as cordially as he had done with me. "How do you come to be in our home?" I asked as I followed him into the sitting room and took a chair while carefully watching him. The body of the soldier was still sprawled out on the floor, and I noticed him eyeing it.

"Well sir, I was ambushed and all of my patrol was lost. For some reason the beast who caught us decided I should live as it only bit me and moved on. After three days of fever I awoke to a blood lust, and have spent many weeks wandering and feeding." I glanced at Victoria who was trying to look casual, but was seemingly nervous. "The people in the town here said this house was haunted, and after speaking with them I found people had been going missing and bodies had been turning up drained of blood. It was easy to assume vampires lived here, which is what we are, yes?"

I took a long, slow sip of whiskey from my glass and fixed him with a serious gaze. "Yes, that is what we are." I nodded gravely, never dropping his gaze. "You did the right thing in finding us. There are rules which you need to know."

I spent some time telling him of the Volturi's rules, and pumping him for information. His name was Garrett and he had been an officer in the enemy army, but now he had lost all appetite for the war. It seemed to be long over by now anyway, and I was just waiting to get the call to return home. I could never really decide why he was with us. He showed no interest in Victoria as a mate, and very rarely hunted, never with us. I was beginning to worry that the townsfolk might begin to suspect us, when after a month or so he left us, telling me that he wanted to go and try to find the beast that had made him this monster. I wished him good luck but I also assumed he would fail, as a vampire who didn't want to be found generally remained unfound.

Eventually our outpost was dismantled and we were ordered to travel home. I bade Victoria farewell and best if luck, and once again walked away from her, boarding a ship that would take me back to England.

When I returned home it was to the news that France was in a full scale revolutionary war. The Bastille had been stormed and all hell was breaking loose over there. Since I no longer truly had a home in London, or indeed anywhere, I decided I should go over the channel and see what all the fuss was about. After all, a mercenary can never turn down a free meal. And I had also been discharged from military service upon my return from America along with my fellow soldiers. It seemed we were to be given the chance to start new lives for ourselves, something the others were ecstatic about, me less so.

France was a mess. I mean it was a total bloodbath. Carnage everywhere. I always travelled as a poor man, and for one I was glad of this, as I witnessed many a well to do carriage burned along with its passengers. Paris was a total free for all, and I ran into several vampires who had travelled simply to enjoy the chaos. A great plan, but not so clever when one takes into account that most vampires choose to live an affluent existence and class themselves as nobility. Couple that with the invulnerable feeling that our abilities can create and you have a dangerous situation. I witnessed several dismemberments and burnings, but only one that I actually cared about.

I had been holed up in a small flat in the city, choosing to hunt by night when the violence was at it's peak. One night I stepped out into the mild spring air and inhaled deeply, as I had trained myself to do. It was common for me to pick up the scent of other vampires, as well as the blood of the fallen, but this particular night my senses began to ring like a bell, for somewhere nearby was a creature who gave off the most delicious scent.

Within moments I had followed my nose and was standing before a beautiful lady, dressed as a noblewoman but without the powder and wig. Instead her blonde hair fell about her shoulders in dramatic curls, and her face needed no powder, such was the strength of her beauty.

I introduced myself and she smiled coyly. Her name was Estelle, and she had been a vampire for fully twenty years. Her life had been lived in the south of France, and her death had brought her into the fold of a group of vampires travelling the country and passing as nobles. She invited me to join her in the palace, but I declined.

"My dear, it would be best to return to my flat. The noble folk are in great peril here." She sniggered, but followed me none the less. I could tell that she was intrigued. Her new life of privilege didn't present her with any sense of danger, and she seemed genuinely interested in me, a vampire living like an ordinary mortal. A British vampire at that.

Over the course of a month we hunted together. I talked her into wearing more subtle clothing, and presenting herself a little less obviously. She was helpful, however, as her uncommon beauty and her divine scent brought the men running into alleys after her, only to be cut down but me as I waited in the shadows. And her beauty was uncommon, and I don't mean she was simply stunning. Her features were her fathers, a rough fisherman who she told me was weathered by time and the Mediterranean sea. She had her mothers eyes though, large and probing. She told me they had been green, but now they were generally red. I could never put my finger on why she was so much of a draw visually, but there it was, flirting on the edge of my consciousness.

Then one day she decided to wear her fine gown out on the street. I will never know what possessed her to do this, but she did, going hunting in the early hours. As the sun began to rise she returned to my humble flat with an unseen trail of rebels. They stormed the house and threw us both out into the sunlight. When she began to sparkle they panicked and dealt with her quickly, leaving me be. I guessed that since there was no evidence of any kind of stately clothes or even much money in my apartment they must have decided I was simply taking advantage of this noblewoman. Then, just as they were about to dismember her I saw a short man in uniform walk towards her. He hurled a volley of abuse in french and gave the order to tear her apart. I shed a silent tear there and then, vowing I would get my revenge on this man. However, I would have to wait a long time to get my shot at Napoleon.


	17. Chapter 17

Part 17 - 1807-1809 Mediterranean Sea - anglo turkish war

So, the Napolianic wars. A series of stupid, brutal wars that threatened to tear Europe, and maybe the world itself, apart. After the events of Paris I decided it was time to return home to England. My only issue at this time was that I didn't actually have what you might call a fixed place of residence, having been away serving for so long, and having sold my house in London, putting my possessions into storage. Yes, I owned several properties, but these were all rented out, so I didn't really have anywhere to stay. Therefore I decided I should go and pay a visit to my actual home.

To be fair, it turned out to be something of a wasted journey for me, the river Avon was still flowing and the castle still stood in place, a magnificent building even by the standards of newer buildings of Southern England and France. The town had expanded, of course, the way everything was expanding and I found it quite difficult to maintain my oath of never feeding on local blood.

I was sitting in a tavern nursing a flagon of ale, wondering where I could try next. Nottingham was nice, I had enjoyed my visits there, and there were always the more Northern towns, especially now that the fighting with the scots seemed to be a thing of the past. I had heard of new machines being put to work in places like Liverpool and Manchester, replacing the greatly skilled people who made everything from clothing to weapons. Factories were beginning to appear everywhere and the transport system was improving rapidly with an actual network of roads helping people to move around. I have even heard talk of a new form of transport, a train. It was said to have an engine propelled by steam, and while many mocked and sneered at this idea, I found it fascinating. The fact was that I had already seen so much, so why couldn't such a thing exist?

I noticed a stranger had sat down opposite me, his swift appearance startled me out of my daydream. He was hooded, his face hidden in deep shadow, and he carried with him an odour that betrayed him. He was one of my kind. Surely he had sniffed me out too, and was now going to challenge me as I was on his turf. I was determined to let him lead. If there had to be a bloodbath here tonight, then so be it, but I would rather avoid that outcome.

"Do you visit here often?" Came the gruff voice from under the hood. There was something familiar about that voice.

"Sir, it has been many a year since I passed this way." I kept my voice neutral while I worked on dredging my mind for the source of the voice.

"Ah, yes, so it must be you then... Castor?" He asked, voice still low, eyes peering out of the dark.

"Good sir, might I ask where you have heard this name?" I was trying to play my cards close to my chest. Damn, it was not easy, curiosity was engulfing me.

"As your superior officer, I made it my duty not to forget." He lifted back his hood and grinned a brilliant grin. It couldn't possibly be, but it was. Lambert was the last name I knew him by, but there had been others such as Mentieth and Matteson. He still had that fire in his eyes. When we had been made all those years ago there had been a theory that our leader was older than us, from some higher standard of life, and while we never asked and he never told us, it seemed that he was a being on a higher level than most. And here he was, smiling at me over a tankard of ale.

His face was just as devilish as before, and his smile was just as dazzling, taking me back to those days so many years before, but now I could see why his hood had been up. One eye still held a fire of a million suns, the other was a dead orb, filled with sour milk. I wanted to ask about the eye but couldn't bring myself to, so instead I blurted out the obvious. "What have you been doing all these years?"

He laughed, an infectious, throaty laugh which made me chuckle just a little. "Well Castor, I could tell you my story but it would probably take a few days. I've been in and out of history somewhat, trying to keep track on my boys but you all proved so elusive. I had heard you lost your head in Italy?"

I tugged my collar nervously. "Ah, that, well that was a long story, suffice to say I know now why our kind are burned as well as decapitated." He grinned. "So why are you here? Last I saw you it was kings and succession?"

His face flattened with seriousness. "As I said, my story is indeed a long one, but what you need to know is this. I now go by the Name Wellesley. I joined the Kings army and fought in America when the Colonists decided they were too good for our rule." I nodded my head sagely. "You were there too? Pity, I could've used a good man such as yourself." He drank deeply from his tankard. "When I returned home I was told my services were no longer required, but the Revolution over in France opened a door for me and I joined the navy. Whatever it is I'm doing it must be pleasing someone because they want to give me my own ship." My mouth was hanging wide. He was always so far ahead of the rest of us. "To put it bluntly, I'm recruiting. I'm on leave right now, and I thought I should come here, as I do as often as I can, and try to find someone worthy of the task." He waved a hand in my direction.

"At your service Captain." Was all I could manage before hurling back the remains of my flagon. Finally, a cause.

Then, as I stood, a thought struck me. His hand was extended across the table for me to shake, but I simply stared at it. "Wait just a moment." I said, suspiciously.

He froze, eyeing me with extreme caution. "Yes?"

"it occurs to me," my voice was low and even, "that the last time I saw you, you were quite intent on killing me and the rest of the team." I finished with a low growl but my anger was short lived when I saw the smile crack his ancient face.

"Ha ha, yes that was a tense time now, wasn't it." He chuckled to himself. "That was a long time and a great deal of kings ago. Rest assured I need you now."

His words had done the trick and I nodded slowly. "Very well." I was calm again.

"I had been meaning to ask, when the moment arose," he started "but where are the others? Do you think they would be up for this adventure?"

"Well I saw Smith meet his demise in Italy when I almost met mine." I rubbed my neck out of habit. "As for Williams, I have neither seen, nor heard from him since the mid 1700's. He was in a spiral of self loathing then, and I didn't wish to see his demise."

His face was grave, almost regretful for a moment until he spoke again. "And Lenster?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He was with us in Italy, and I saw him take off when things got out of hand. Not heard of him since, so he's either underground or dead I suppose." I said grimly. Thinking of my friends did not fill me with happy thoughts, so I decided I should go hunting. "Well, I shall see you in Southampton on Friday." I said, now taking his hand and shaking. This felt like the right thing to do, and he seemed different now. More level headed.

And so I found myself on a ship in the middle of the Mediterranean sea, Turkish cannon fire blasting all about and the men onboard scrambling for their lives. In honesty I was never great at sea but our captain had come up with an idea that kept me occupied.

While he could not show his face on deck during the day when the sun was out I suffered no such disadvantage. I was also known for my long distance aim, so I had been placed in the crows nest with a quiver of arrows and a sack of ammo. When the enemy drew close enough to identify I was taking shots at them, causing general panic. My new rifle was perfect, long and slender with more accurate sights than ever before. I was finding myself needing to compensate for wind more and more as I pulled off long range kills like never before.

But of course the real talking point of this little boat ride was one Alan 'Taffy' Walters. A burly Welshman with a thick brown beard and hair down his back. When we first met he tried to crush my hand when he shook it. From the start I knew there was something strange about him, and I was proven correct when we boarded a Turkish vessel one night and were confronted by a few hundred Turks. While I barred my teeth he leapt into the air, shedding his clothes, landing on deck on all fours. All four feet. He had changed into a massive wolf with thick black hair and burning eyes. Between us we chewed up the Turkish crew in no time.

It wouldn't be long before Napolean was coming after us.


	18. Chapter 18

**As much as I hate to do this, I'm putting this one on hiatus now, as I've been working on a new idea that's apparently much more interestin. Thanks for reading this though, I've enjoyed writing it thus far but a break will let me come up with a better ending. In the meantime, any comments will be appreciated and take on board for the remainder of the story, and please check out 'time to love' my next story. Thanks again...**

Part 18 - 1813 - Battle of Vitoria

It was 1812 and I was in Spain. Ciudad Rodrigo to be precise. Lambert, or Wellington as he was now known, was leading the allied army of Britain, Spain and Portugal, but things had been going badly as of late. Just when we thought we had Napoleon on the run he would manage to give us the slip and hit us with a stronger army, as had been the case with our most recent retreat, first out of Burgos, then Madrid and finally Salamanca leaving us all the way back in Rodrigo.

In the years that I had been fighting at first alongside, and now for Wellington he had gained many commendations for his tactical brilliance and bravery. The bravery was something he should have naturally, but his ability to adapt and create new tactics on the fly was something of a joy to behold. One would think that a man who was god knew how many years old would run out of ideas or become stuck in his ways, but not him, and I suppose this was possibly a large reason behind his extended existence.

He had decided to put me into a special team that would carry out certain duties that the ordinary men could not do, and now we had been together for a few years we were developing a bond.

I was designated as the leader based mainly on age and experience. A requirement of joining our squad was being told our true nature, and none were close to my age. I took orders from Wellington, and often his underlings, relaying them. Often I would also need to think on my feet and direct the team on the go. Those were the more exciting missions. Other than that I would act as lookout constantly, often unsheathing my rifle to fire off a shot when none of the men even noticed an enemy presence.

My number two was Taffy Walters. When he was in battle mode he was unstoppable, a whirlwind of rage, and at all other times he was loud, brash, ignorant, rude and hilarious. I shall get to some of his antics later.

DeCosta, the Spaniard was interesting. He had been born blind, and his mother had decided that rather than raise a blind child she would abandon him, so, in the dead of night she took him in a basket deep into the woods and left him in a cave. I wont tell you he was raised by the animals out there, as that would be ludicrous, but he was able to survive somehow, taking on many traits of the bats who inhabited the cave which he called home. He was able to see through vibrations in the air, so sensitive was his hearing, and his power of smell was almost on a par with mine. Since he couldn't see it coming he did not fear death, which allowed him to move freely and without second thought. His weapon of choice was a blade he had bought from a travelling Japanese man, and he used it with deadly speed.

Then there were the twins. From Yorkshire in England, they had been brought into a life where mining down the pits was commonplace for a toddler. They survived this by being strong, powerful and unrelenting, but most of all by being excellent thieves. They were able to steal food from their fellow workers enough that they were able to grow much larger than the other children of their age. When they were old enough they would often replace the shire horses pulling the mine carts, and their brawls in the local pubs were the stuff of legend. They were quiet most of the time, focused, never relaxing, always on the lookout for a score. Many an enemy outpost found itself unable to defend itself thanks to their plundering. And they still had an almost inhuman strength about them. I never caught their individual names, but they both answered to Gammon. Not sure why. I never asked and they were not story tellers.

The most unlikely member of our gang was Yardley, an old fellow who's diminutive stature gave off the impression of a frail old man. However, he was anything but frail, and he moved with incredible speed. This was not what made him special though. He had spent thirty years in the mountains of Asia living with a chapter of monks. From them he had learned not only martial arts from millennia ago, but the ability to channel his energy into a form of magic. Be it a fireball or a glimpse into the future, his abilities never ceased to amaze, and I would often think of him as my most valuable player.

There were others of course, but this was the core of our group while many came and went, either falling at the hand of the enemy or finding they were not up to the task.

Our group was a part of the rifle corps, and we were developing a name for ourselves amongst not only our countrymen but also our enemies for our speed and aggression in battle. We skirmished like devils and reviled in the spoils.

During the retreats we had been at the rear, protecting the men as they were evacuated from city to city. A far more dangerous task than you would think as we would be the front line for the enemy to fire upon. I took many shots and arrows while shielding my fellow soldiers.

And so there we were, in Rodrigo, awaiting our next order. It didn't take long to arrive. I was cleaning down my rifle when Wellington himself approached. The others stopped what they were doing and snapped to attention, while I remained seated, concentrating on the barrel. When I could see he was standing directly in front of me I carefully placed the gun barrel on the ground and looked up slowly. His face was neutral as always, impossible to read. He looked around the space, a small outdoor area where we had set up our tents. "As you were." He said in a low voice and my men dropped out of view. "Efficient team you've assembled here, Castor."

"Thank you." I smiled wryly. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I have a mission for you." I chuckled low and deep, but he chose to ignore me. "We are going to move on the enemy in a flanking formation."

"Sounds simple enough, so what brings you here in person?"

"Well." He let out a deep sigh. "I want you to go hard at the centre. The flanking move will be by the infantry, I want you to break through and get to Joseph Bonaparte."

"A hostage mission?" Now I was interested.

"If we can get Jo then we should be able to leverage the hell out of his brother." I nodded. This was going to be more interesting than I thought.

The sun beat down on the dirt outside of Vitoria. Light was glinting and bouncing off the helmets and weapons of the French who were lined up a few hundred yards away. Our force was a few thousand, their many more, but we knew we held a key advantage. It was the first time we had been set loose against a large force, and now was the time to prove our worth.

I raised a hand bringing my men to a halt. Taffy came to my side. "One or two of the stinky fuckers, isn't there?" He said.

"Think we can handle them?"

"Piece o piss boss." I always enjoyed his confidence.

"Gammons?"

He surveyed their lines before answering. "Hard at it boss. Won't know what hit en, will they."

"Good. Have Yardley bring some fire." Taffy nodded. "Lots of smoke too. Let's make things fair on DeCosta shall we?"

He laughed a low, menacing cackle. "Aye lets fuckin ave a go then." And he staked off to find the others. I could see the Gammons now, flitting from man to man no doubt picking up as much ammo as possible. I smiled. It was time. I raised my bow. I always liked to kick off a battle with my bow. I could see the ripple in the French ranks. The leader was on horseback and he looked pompous and soft. When my arrow was lodged in his throat he fell like a sack of potatoes. This caused the enemy to rush so raised my hand and pointed forward, taking off at a run. It didn't take long for me to reach them, and now I was feeling them fall. On the way I had fired a few shots and now I was going hand to hand, tearing and smashing. Hot blood splashed my face and that was enough to set the sparks flying inside my head. Then it went dark.

As requested Yardley had thrown a fireball at their centre and followed it up with smoke. Now an early darkness fell. It did not slow me at all. The French however were in panic. Many were now finding they had no ammo. They were an undisciplined mess, and they were running around like headless chickens. The Gammons were pounding anything that moved, DeCosta was slicing through the dark with grace and Taffy's wolf ravaged the blue clad enemy like a dog with a bone. The only one I didn't see was Yardley but that was normal. His movements would be so fast and fluid even I would struggle to see him in battle.

I could see we had the battle won after just a few hours of fighting, and their command tents were now visible. I called my men and led a charge to the tents, taking an enemy trooper and tearing out his throat with my teeth as I ran, drinking the blood and feeling the electricity in my veins.

We reached the tents and I peeled back the flap of the largest, walking in. The place was full of French officers, and in the middle was a character in old style armour and a cape. Our eyes met and for a second he held my gaze until he broke off and ran. I would have caught him but for the explosion. He made for a large pile of gunpowder and lit the fuse. It was between us and when it blew it sent me flying. The last thing I remember of the highly successful battle was a sight of my quarry disappearing in a cloud of dust.


End file.
